Double Jeopardy
by Ruairi J.L
Summary: Voldemort may have won even after his death... one hidden Portkey... one impulsion charm... and Harry finds himself in Alagaësia, where he appears trapped for all eternity. But there is now a quest before him - fight alongside Eragon, first Shur'tugal of the new era, to destroy the evil Galbatorix. With help from Brom and Murtagh they must succeed... or the world shall burn.
1. Chapter One

**A:N – This is a story I thought would be interesting and fun to write. I hope you all like it.**

* * *

**Chapter One – Voldemort's Final Victory**

Harry Potter had walked amongst friends, and enemies, his entire life. His parents had been murdered by the greatest Dark Wizard of all time when he was only a baby, and so he had been raised by his hateful relatives, who despised everything to do with magic, or, in their words: "Harry's kind". He had once thought he would be miserable until his life finally gave way, but that had not come to pass, for on his eleventh birthday, he had been rescued from the Dursleys, by a half-giant named Hagrid. It had been one of the best days of his life, and at first he thought it was a dream, but in truth, there was no stronger reality.

After that incredible day, his journey did not end. In fact, it had just begun. To describe everything that happened to him would take a long time, so a summary would be a better option. With the help of his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, Harry made a new home, and family, in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as quite a few enemies. Seven long years after learning how his parents had really died, Harry had finally defeated their murderer, Lord Voldemort.

It had come with a great price, however; one which Harry could see etched on the tormented faces of those who had lost family and friends to the evil tyrant and his cruel regime. He could see and feel their pain, as it was also his own. Currently, the "Survivors of Hogwarts", as they were being called after the almighty battle, were grief-stricken and tearful. A funeral was underway for the victorious dead.

Harry listened with tortured ears as the wizard, who had also buried Dumbledore, as well as married Bill and Fleur, read a list of the fallen.

'Remus Lupin,

Dora Tonks,

Fred Weasley,

Nigel Creevey,

Dennis Fletcher,

Chrissie Golding,

David Walters,

Martha Rodgers,

Anthony Goldstein,

Zacharias Smith…'

Harry couldn't listen to anymore; he had known many of those people very well, and could not cope with hearing who else had given their lives for his cause. He attempted to block out the voice, one which he could call "The Voice of Death itself", using his tears, but was unable to do so. He sat there, crying silently, weeping for those brave witches and wizards, whom he would never see again.

The very moving ceremony was taking place beside the lake, as Dumbledore's had. The wizard continued reading out names for several minutes, including those of Centaurs and House Elves alike. Harry had been adamant that they be remembered with the same glory that his fellow people would be, and had threatened to hex the priest when he had refused. He had quickly changed his mind.

Minister Shacklebolt had decreed that the dead should be buried on the grounds of Hogwarts, as it was ground they had fought and died on, protecting it, protecting each other, protecting themselves…

Harry had chosen a seat directly at the front beside Ginny, who was crying into his shoulder; mainly for Fred, but for everybody overall. Harry had his arm around her, and felt inclined to hold it there until the end of time. Slowly, he lifted his head and realised that the heat on his face was originating from the blistering Sun overhead. He thought it strange that something so beautiful could still exist. He held his eyes were they were, refusing to be blinded by the overwhelming show of light, until he could stand it no more.

Once that happened, he lowered his gaze to the forty seven identical white tombs, in each of which he knew a friend lay. Forty seven friends. Forty seven too many.

* * *

_**Two weeks later**_

'Ah, Harry, thank you so much for coming,' Kingsley greeted.

'Any time, Minister,' Harry replied eagerly. They shook hands and sat down on either side of the new Minister's desk.

'How is the clean-up process going?' Harry asked curiously.

'Slowly, to say the least. Voldemort may be dead, but many of his followers are still out there. Quite a few escaped just after he was killed.'

'And I take it they're not going to turn themselves in?'

Kingsley smiled solemnly. 'Of course not. If they were going to, they would have done so already. Many of them are only hiding, but a select few continue to wreak havoc on everyday life in a series of hit-and-run operations. But, you must know that already.'

Harry nodded. 'It's been the main story in the _Daily Prophet_ ever since that attack on Gringotts.'

'Yes, and to make matters worse, they are still targeting the Muggle population. The Prime Minister is growing impatient, but I can hardly say that I blame him.'

Harry studied Kingsley carefully; he appeared to be exhausted, which was expected after two weeks of non-stop raids, attacks and battles between Aurors and Death Eaters. It had gotten so bad the Ministry was forced to ask for volunteers from Hogwarts seventh years. Harry had been one of them, but he had been away on a peacekeeping mission in Japan for five days.

'So, how was your mission?' Kingsley asked. 'I take it you convinced the Japanese Minister that Voldemort is truly gone?'

'Yes… barely.'

Kingsley smiled once more. 'Well, that is to be expected, I'm afraid. Many countries are afraid that we have been infiltrated, and that this "report" of Voldemort's death is little more than a ruse.'

'Priori Incantatem worked in the end.'

'Which is why I sent you,' Kingsley concluded. 'I trust you didn't fraternize with the Japanese witches too much?'

Harry felt himself turn a little red. 'I tried to restrain myself as much as possible.'

Kingsley laughed. 'I'm only kidding,' he said jokingly. 'I know how much you care for Miss Weasley.'

'A lot.'

'Yes, I thought so.' The Minister parted his hands and stood up, Harry following his lead. 'Down to business, I'm afraid. The reason I called you in here is to discuss something rather… intriguing. Yesterday, we raided Malfoy Manor.'

'Ah. I take it you think he's harbouring some old acquaintances?' Harry asked interestedly.

'Not quite,' Kingsley said, shaking his head. 'He told us to do so as proof of his newfound innocence. We believe he is looking for an acquittal from the Wizengamot.'

'What!' Harry exclaimed. 'You're not going to give him one, are you? You can't just believe he's had a change of heart, and even if he has, what about the things he did before-hand?'

'You forget that it's _me_ you're talking to, Harry,' Kingsley said softly. 'Of course I have no such intentions. He may get life in Azkaban if I have my way. We do not believe he is harbouring any Death Eaters there, or he wouldn't have willingly invited us to investigate it.'

Harry shrugged his shoulders, confused. 'Then why bother searching it?'

'Why? Because it was Voldemort's base of operations for almost a year; I figured if he had any little secrets lying around, they would be there,' he said mysteriously; 'even if Malfoy does not know about them personally.'

'I take it you found something, then. This "intriguing" thing.'

'Yes, but it is much easier if I show it to you rather than telling you about it. If you will, Harry,' he said, holding his left arm outwards. Harry grabbed it and, almost immediately, felt himself being compressed through that tiny tube once more.

After a second of discomfort, they reappeared in Malfoy Manor. Evidently, the wards had been collapsed by Ministry officials.

'Double guard?' Harry asked, noticing two Aurors in their long cloaks standing by the entrance, looking haughty and intimidating.

Kingsley merely nodded. Harry felt himself getting nervous, now. The last time he was inside this house it hadn't been under good circumstances.

'Nothing to be afraid of,' Kingsley assured him, noticing his apprehension. 'This way,' he motioned.

Harry followed his new leader into the living room, where there was now a rectangular hole in the floor. Upon closer analysis, Harry realised it was a trap-door, but one with a ladder. That wasn't the strangest thing, however. The hole was twice as long as it was wide, and the ladder appeared to be propped against a slanted marble wall, which gave Harry one impression.

'Tunnel?' he asked confusedly. Kingsley nodded in response. He held out his hand, and Harry realised it was a gesture from him to lead. Obliging, he nodded to the Minister and began to descend, careful not to slip, although it would only be a drop of a few feet if he did. He stepped off the ladder and turned around, finding himself indeed in a tunnel. It was about eight feet high, but only three or four wide. It went forward about ten metres, and then turned left. Harry was right about the walls and roof being made of marble. Everlasting torches of fire lined the walls. Voldemort definitely hadn't spared any expenses on this place.

He examined the passageway keenly as Kingsley climbed down behind him. 'Well, what do you think?'

'They kept this under their living room?' Harry asked incredulously.

'Yes. Perhaps Lucius didn't think we would find it, but that doesn't seem like him. He wouldn't underestimate the Ministry so much.'

_Maybe… _Harry thought suspiciously.

'Very well; let us go on.'

Harry led the way up the passageway slowly, being cautious of traps or any unexpected dangers that may have been planted. He reached the fork and turned quickly.

'What the-'

He stopped in his tracks, gazing at the large door in front of him. It was also made of marble, but carved onto it was a large serpent, entwined around a large letter "S", sporting large, green emeralds for eyes. There were words above it, but he couldn't read them from where he was standing. There were Runes etched around the side of the door. As his eyes met those of the snake, he felt something similar to a bolt of electricity creep through his body. He saw no door handle, then inwardly kicked himself for thinking a door like this would have a handle.

'For Slytherin,' Harry said, nodding towards the "S". That much was obvious. 'How do you know it's a door?'

'The words read: _"Only the Chosen One contains the key", _Kingsley replied. 'Keys open doors. Have you any idea what-'

'It means Parseltongue,' Harry interrupted. He folded his arms neatly, staring up at the snake, mesmerized. 'Voldemort must have set up this room himself. He knew that I am the only one who can enter it besides himself. Do you want me to open it?'

'No,' Kingsley said quickly. He held out a scroll of parchment with the same Runes written down. 'Not until we have these deciphered, at least. Unfortunately, all my people are busy at the moment, so…'

'So you haven't been able to translate them,' Harry finished. He turned to face Kingsley and let his arms unfold. 'I'll speak to her.'

* * *

Harry sat on the couch offered to him, waiting anxiously for her to return with the tea. She did.

'Here you are,' Hermione said, handing him a cup.

'Thanks.' Harry took a sip of the hot liquid gratefully.

Hermione sat down on the couch beside him. 'So, I've had a look over the Runes you gave me.'

'Can you translate them?' Harry asked.

'I already have.'

Harry smiled. Even after all these years, Hermione's intelligence continued to both impress and surprise him greatly. 'So, what do they mean?'

Hermione sat down her cup anxiously with both hands, feeling worried. 'I don't know where you found these, Harry, but-'

'On a door in a hidden passageway underneath Malfoy Manor,' Harry said honestly, going against Kingsley's wishes. Hermione looked scared. He didn't blame her one bit; the last time she had been near that house, she had been tortured.

'It doesn't surprise me,' she said weakly, then raised her voice to normal levels once more. 'They translate into a warning: _"He who will enter this room shall never return. The Dark Lord commands it. So say we all".' _

Harry was quiet, thinking hard, before he realised something. 'It's probably a false warning. I think Voldemort just doesn't want us to find out what's behind that door.'

'Harry, you can't be serious,' Hermione whispered. Her eyes were wide with fear.

Harry blinked. 'I'm not,' he said truthfully. 'I don't know why I said that.' He felt confused now. Could something have happened to him when he had looked at the snake, causing his judgement to become clouded? He remembered that strange feeling, like a bolt of electricity…

He stood up quickly. An unstoppable urge to see the door once more enveloped him like a tight-pressing blanket. 'I have to go,' he told her, reaching for his coat.

'Harry, wait!' Hermione walked over to him, looked him directly in the eye. 'Promise me you won't do anything you'll regret.'

He hesitated, unsure of what to say. Then he returned her gaze, but found himself unable to be truthful. 'I won't. I promise.'

With a loud crack, he disapparated.

* * *

Harry reappeared in Malfoy Manor once more, surprising the Aurors on duty.

'I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but you need to have clearance to get through without an escort,' one of them said bluntly. He held out his palm. 'Your security clearance, please.'

Harry nodded and reached into his coat pocket, but, instead of producing a pass, he brought out his wand. The guard looked alarmed, but didn't have time to issue a warning to his partner, as Harry stunned him. The other guard appeared in the kitchen doorway and reached for his wand, but it was too late. Harry raised his own quickly.

'_Stupefy!'_

The guard collapsed in the doorway, leaving Harry standing there alone. He was in shock at what he had just done, but found himself unable to undo the spells. Not because he was incapable, but because his mind was telling him not to. It was as if he were no longer in charge of his own body.

He found himself waking towards the trap-door in the living room, and tried to stop, but to no avail. Then he was descending once more, feeling excitement that was not his. Both sides of his mind fought for dominance, with the side leading Harry onwards winning. He then found himself at the door once more, staring into the snake's eyes.

He knew what he was about to do, and tried to keep his mouth firmly closed, but he should have known it would not work.

'_Open,'_ he hissed in Parseltongue. The door, which was really a slab of marble, slid upwards slowly. Harry stood there until it retracted completely, disappearing into the ceiling, and then ventured inwards. It appeared to be a larger version of the tunnel, with only one key difference: size. The chamber was about ten metres long and ten metres wide. In the centre was a large wooden table, upon which lay a mysterious object emanating a blue glow. Harry had seen a similar glow before. It was a portkey.

As he walked towards it, he saw that it was a round pot, around which another ornate snake twisted itself. Both were made of the same material the walls and roof were emblazoned with. As he approached it, he saw a dark liquid filled it. Black or red? He couldn't tell, due to the lack of light. He felt an overwhelming desire to touch the pot.

_No! _He shouted at his own mind. But it was futile. Some type of mysterious energy had been transferred to him from the door, and he couldn't overpower it. That was why only he could open the door. Voldemort had planned it out very well. As time itself appeared to pause to see what would happen next, Harry felt his forefinger brush the pot, and was immediately jerked forwards, via the navel, into the darkness.

* * *

An explosion shattered the night. Eragon lunged forward, racing through the grass as a fiery wind surged past his cheek. He slid to a stop and loosed an arrow at the bounding doe. It missed by a finger's breadth and hissed into darkness. He cursed and spun around, instinctively nocking another arrow.

Behind him, where the deer had been, smouldered a large circle of grass and trees. Many of the pines stood bare of their needles. The grass outside the charring was flattened. A wisp of smoke curled in the air, carrying a burnt smell. In the centre of the blast radius lay a polished blue stone. Mist snaked across the scorched area and swirled insubstantial tendrils over the stone.

He raised his bow once more when he heard a low groan. He saw a man, or possibly someone nearing manhood, lying beside one of the trees. He was unconscious. Eragon lowered the bow and ran to him, seeing if he was hurt. He couldn't tell, but he knew one thing: this hunt was over. He had to take this man to Gertrude. The journey back would be tedious, but he had no choice now. Firstly, he ran over and picked up the stone, hoping he could buy some food with it. Then, he went over and lifted the man over his shoulder. He was fairly heavy, but years of farming and hunting helped Eragon manage. Slowly, he began to head towards Palancar Valley, wondering where this man had come from and where he had obtained such unusual clothes.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two – Bearings**

Under normal circumstances, Eragon would have taken a few days to reach Carvahall from his current position in The Spine. However, he now moved with a purpose, and a very important one at that. Not only did he have his moral duty to try and save this boy's life, but he was excited at the prospect of how much meat he could possibly buy in exchange for the mysterious blue stone. He had wanted to go back to the site of its appearance, but that was second to the importance of returning to Carvahall now. However, even with his increased pace; stopping to make camp was apparently inevitable at least once. He reached a precipitous ravine after several hours of slightly laboured hiking on the game trail. The stranger was light in comparison to the weight of another human, a feature Eragon put down to malnourishment because of his skinny posture.

His light weight notwithstanding, returning home was still not an easy task for Eragon. He carried the man over his shoulders, which tended to slow down his advancement significantly. Even with his renewed vigour, he doubted he would reach the town until two days passed by. As he sat by the fire he had made, eating his regular camping dinner of bread and cheese, he wondered where this boy had come from. It was as though he had just appeared out of nowhere, the same way the stone had. Eragon placed him at around the age of seventeen, Roran's age. He hadn't searched his pockets for any clue to his identity, and resolved not to. He believed in privacy, and wasn't about to undermine that of anyone else. He had, however, removed the glasses his new "friend" was wearing, so they wouldn't get lost or broken during the trek to Carvahall.

Suddenly, Eragon realised something. If he was skinny due to malnourishment, then was it possible for him to make it back to Carvahall, in his present state, with no food? Eragon considered both sides of the argument carefully, but then made his mind up. He had little food, and couldn't make the boy eat when he was unconscious anyway, but there was plenty of water. Besides, if he ran out, he could simply make a detour and refill his water-skin at the river.

Carefully, Eragon walked over and opened his mouth gently, then poured some of the water inside. Knowing what to do, he squeezed his nose and tilted his head backwards, so that the cool liquid ran down his throat. After a second, Eragon heard a loud swallowing noise and released his grip. It wasn't much, but it would hopefully keep him going for a little while. He spent an hour camped in the thicket, deciding not to spend the night. Every little step counted, but a mouthful of water wouldn't be enough to last indefinitely; if he had to keep splitting it between the two of them, he would soon run out, most likely when he was too far away from the Anora to return again.

And so he set off again, hoping that a miracle would deliver the two of them safely. A lesser person would have left the boy there to die, deciding not to take the risk. Eragon would have called such a person a coward and cursed them with the strongest oaths he knew. For two days, he continued with the same routine: using his quick reflexes and average strength to keep moving for several hours, resting for an hour or so, giving the stranger a drink of water at each stop, and praying that he would make it back.

Truthfully, he was more concerned for his unconscious companion than he was for himself. He hadn't once awoken since Eragon had found him. Eragon had heard stories of injured persons that slept for long periods of time continuously, due to severe head injuries. After he thought of that, he remembered the position he had found the boy lying in and immediately stopped, in order to check the back of his head. How could he have missed something so obvious?

He slowly sat him down on the ground, in a sitting position. Eragon was no healer, but he knew the basics of checking for head injuries. Slowly, he moved his fingers from the top of the boy's head and worked backwards, simply brushing them along his scalp. He stopped when he got to the point joining the head and the back. There was a huge bump in that position; the explosion must have knocked him backwards into the tree, knocking him out. Eragon removed his fingers and felt his face turn pale as he saw blood covering the tips of his first two fingers.

Acting on a sudden impulse, he picked the boy up once more and began travelling even faster than before, practically running along the game trail, whilst praying that he wouldn't trip. He did not. Finally, he reached Palancar Valley, but didn't stop to admire the view as he normally would. He cursed softly as he realised normal descent would be impossible carrying someone, unless he wanted to go over the edge of the cliff and fall to his death. Instead, he spent a while searching for an easier path to take, the task taking three hours. Cursing under his breath, he climbed _very_ slowly down the relatively smooth slope, feeling his heart pound in his chest as he nearly fell four times, being saved only by those quick reflexes.

He finally reached the bottom, but didn't stop to rest, choosing to start walking the final stretch home immediately. It took him two hours to reach Carvahall; it was now evening time. He had resolved to visit the butcher's shop, but there was a more important errand beforehand. With staggering steps, he attempted to head for Gertrude's hut, but the exhaustion he had been plagued with finally overcame him; he collapsed onto his side and blacked out.

* * *

When Eragon awoke, he found himself staring at the roof of a hut, and realised he had been found by someone. Sitting upright, he turned to find the town healer, Gertrude, sitting at his side. The boy was nowhere to be seen.

'Ah! You're awake! How do you feel?' Gertrude asked him caringly.

He stifled a yawn behind his hand. 'Fine, I think. I was just tired.'

She smiled at him warmly, setting aside the blanket she was knitting. 'Exhausted, more like! Carrying someone all the way back here!' She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. 'I mean, it was very brave of you, but very foolish as well, I must say.'

Eragon shrugged impatiently. 'I wasn't about to let him die out there. He didn't awaken once the entire time; how could he have looked after himself?'

'I know, son, I know.' She patted his cheek admirably. 'It looks like your sacrifice paid off anyway; he should be just fine.'

Relief washed over Eragon like a hot bath. He wasn't afraid to let it show either; he closed his eyes and sighed. 'Thank the gods,' he muttered.

'Thank you, more like; you saved his life. Horst helped me move him into the house, where he can stay until he awakens.'

'Can I see him?' Eragon asked.

'You may, but I wouldn't bother. He's still asleep, and will probably remain so for a while now.'

Eragon nodded, understanding. 'I think I'll head on now, in that case. Thank you for everything.'

'No problem; it's what I'm here for. You can come back and check up on him in a couple of day's time, if you wish.'

'I think I'll do that.' Quickly, Eragon rose and donned his clothes, making sure to not forget the pack in which the blue stone lay. Once more he thanked Gertrude, and then ventured outside. It was a warm morning; the sun shone brightly in the distance, its rays of light dominating all. He blinked as he became accustomed to the light once more, then headed for Sloan's.

Ten minutes later, he left the shop, fuming at the butcher and his irritable attitude. It was good of Horst to pay for the meat, not to mention giving Eragon the chance to pay it off later, but it still didn't change the way the butcher had acted, and didn't make it any more tolerable. However, he was eager to be home, so, after delivering both his thanks and Roran's embarrassing message to Horst, he quickly departed the town.

He followed the road until he reached the turn-off point, and continued on from there. He practically tore a path through the waist-high grass and the knoll, which was almost hidden by the shadows of the large elm trees nearby. As he reached the top of the hill, he took one glance at his home and a broad grin spread over his face. It was still early, so he didn't know if Garrow or Roran would be up yet, but he knocked on the locked door anyway.

'Uncle, it's Eragon. Are you there?'

Eragon heard the small shutter slide back, then the door swung inwards, revealing his uncle, Garrow. The boy Eragon had rescued may have felt malnourished, but Garrow had a look in his eye that suggested the exact same thing. His intense eyes gazed out from beneath his hair, which was definitely greying nowadays, Eragon knew. Forced to make a living the hard way, Garrow displayed strength and a fairly impressive stature, although it was nothing compared to Horst's.

'Hello, Eragon,' he smiled. 'You're late.'

Eragon grinned, crossed the threshold and sat his pack on the kitchen table.

'Sorry, uncle; I was forced to spend a night in Carvahall. At Gertrude's, to be exact.'

'Don't tell me you injured yourself again!' Garrow shook his head amusingly. 'The amount of accidents you have-'

'No, no, it wasn't me,' Eragon said quickly. He summarised the story for his uncle, making sure to leave out none of the finer details. Garrow looked thoughtful.

'You say he was just… "lying there"?'

Eragon nodded in response.

'Hmm… well, that's very odd, but you did the right thing in helping him,' Garrow said proudly.

'There's more.'

'Oh?'

Eragon hesitated, biting his lip. 'Uncle, don't be mad, but Horst bought meat for us.' As Garrow's eyes flashed warningly, Eragon said in a louder voice: 'with the promise that I can work off my debt in spring.'

'Where will you find time to work for him? Will you just ignore what needs to be done around here?' Garrow asked angrily, doing his best not to shout.

'I don't know how I'll do it,' Eragon said irritably, although he had a good idea. In the surrounding land, when a life was saved, the rescuer was normally owed a life debt from the rescued, so he was counting on some help, although he would never force it. For all he knew, the stranger was needed by his own family, elsewhere. 'Besides, it may not be necessary at all,' Eragon continued. 'I found something that could be worth some money…'

* * *

Harry groaned as he awoke painfully. His head was pounding. He looked around and found himself in a strange, old-fashioned bedroom; one with very little furniture and honey-coloured walls. He sat upright, finding himself alone. A dish of water lay on a small bedside table next to him, along with a damp cloth. Grimacing, he reached up and felt the back of his head, which seemed to be the source of the pain. He found a bandage wrapped around his forehead, covering the undeniable bump.

_Yep, definitely a concussion; I was probably out for a day or two. Bloody tree._

His first question was an easy one, although it would probably be difficult to answer: _where am I?_

He decided it wouldn't hurt to find out. Obviously, whoever had brought him here meant him no harm; else his wound wouldn't be bandaged. 'Hello?' he called out. Only a couple of seconds later, the door opened and a middle-aged woman walked in, smiling serenely. Harry couldn't find words to describe her clothes; they appeared to be even older-looking than Ron's dress robes. They weren't unusual, well, not really, just… _old._

'Good morning,' she said brightly. 'How are you feeling?'

'Okay…' he replied slowly.

'Good. You had a mild fever and a pretty bad bump when Eragon brought you in, but I think you're fit to leave now. Let me just get this,' she said, reaching for his bandage. He allowed her to unroll it and remove the ball of cotton, which had soaked up the apparent blood.

'Who's Eragon?' he asked curiously.

'The lad that found you and brought you in,' she said absent-mindedly. 'What were you doing in The Spine?' she asked sharply.

'The… Spine?' Harry asked confusedly. He could still feel his head hurting.

'The mountains. You must be from a distant land if you haven't heard of them.'

'I guess I am, then. Where am I exactly?' he asked generally, trying not to give anything away.

'The town of Carvahall. It's located near the very top of Alagaesia, beside the Anora River.'

_What? _Harry shook his head to clear it. He'd never heard of such a place before. So, unless Voldemort had discovered some strange land unknown to him, that was a mistake… or a lie. He was counting on the former, but this woman said it so precisely, he doubted it was accidental.

'Could I please see a map? I'd like to get my bearings.'

'Certainly,' she replied, 'I'll be back in a moment.'

"This has to be a bad dream" was a clichéd expression; one which Harry had never expected to use before. But, under the circumstances, he could think of no alternative. It was possible that this… "Alagaesia" was little more than a hidden or unknown country, deep in South America or Africa. But, if that was the case, it would be easy for him to apparate away, so it was a doubtful proposition. Voldemort was very clever, and Harry didn't think he would overlook such an obvious point whilst formulating his plan.

_Speaking of apparition, where's my wand?_

He quickly scanned the room, until he found it lying under his pillow. He decided that if he was going to leave, then there was no point in sticking around any longer. After all, there's no place like home. Unfortunately, his attempt did not succeed.

_Oh, come on,_ he pleaded with himself, then urged himself: _think of the 3 D's. Deliberation, divination, desperation… no, wait! That's Ron's version! What the hell was it again?_

But he had never needed the help of the three D's after leaving Hogwarts to hunt for Horcruxes, due to perfecting the art of apparition around that time. It meant that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't apparate home. After trying and failing to relocate in half a dozen other places he knew well, he fell back on the pillow, resigned to failure. It looked like the only way home was to find the Portkey and try to re-engineer the magic, but he knew that wouldn't work, simply because he had no idea how to do it. In any case, Voldemort wouldn't have gone to all this trouble and then just left the Portkey there. He would have designed it so that it would return to its point of origin after dropping Harry off.

Then there was the problem of powering it back up again; he wasn't able to tell at the time, being far too busy trying to fight his own mind, but he knew what that dark substance had been.

_Blood. Voldemort's blood._

Harry was sure only Voldemort could power up that particular Portkey, so he had almost no chance of doing so himself. He sighed, trying desperately to think of another way home. _The Portkey idea's out, I've no Floo Powder, no Firebolt, I can't apparate… that leaves me dead in the water. _

He looked up again as the mysterious woman appeared once more, carrying a large scroll in her hands. 'Sorry I was so long. I had no idea where this was. Most people around here don't care for maps… prefer to keep to themselves,' she rambled, unaware that Harry wasn't really listening.

She unrolled the map and sat it on the bedside table, using a few, small ornaments to keep it unravelled. Harry looked at it in wonder. The Spine was a very long mountain range, aptly named as it made up the "backbone" of Alagaesia, running along the coast. A large island known as Vroengard occupied a small part of the water in the northwest, whilst five other, smaller islands were located at the very southwest point on the map. A great plain filled the heart of the map, dotted with sporadic cities and numerous towns. The largest were known as: Gil'ead, Dras-Leona, Feinster and Belatona, whilst Urû'baen appeared to be the capital. South of Alagaesia was a dotted line, running from the southern part of the Jiet River across to another mountain range. The map cut off after the first couple, just as it did on the northern side in terms of forest. On the bottom side of this dotted line was the word "Surda", written in large capitals. Harry could only guess this was a separate part of the country, or a different country altogether.

'How far is it from here…?' Harry pointed to Carvahall on the map, 'to here?' He now pointed at Aberon, Surda's capital city.

'Give or take, three hundred leagues, or so.'

Harry allowed his hand to fall onto the map lazily. That was almost one and a half thousand kilometres! And if that second mountain range continued on for the same distance as that of The Spine… He shook his head. There was no way this land could remain undiscovered on Planet Earth.

_On Planet Earth…_

No, that was impossible. He was kidding himself now. A Portkey couldn't transport you to another planet… could it? Voldemort _was_ the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time, after all, and had boasted of discovering many new things that night in the graveyard. Could this be one of them? It would explain why Harry's apparition wasn't working – there were no other populated planets in the solar system besides Earth, meaning that there must be an enormous distance between Earth and this world. The apparition technique wasn't powerful enough for something like that.

'What's this area here?' he asked, pointing between two lone mountains that were situated several leagues east of the Ramr River.

'That's the Hadarac Desert. It stretches several times larger than the Great Plains of The Empire, as do the Beor Mountains and the forest Du Weldenvarden.'

That made the land even wider than it was long. He _had_ to try to retrieve that Portkey. It was a long shot, but it still appeared to be his best shot at getting home.

'Thank you, err…'

'Gertrude.'

'Gertrude; thank you. What was the name of the boy who brought me here again?'

'Eragon, and don't mention it, son. It's what I'm here for,' Gertrude said kindly.

'Eragon,' Harry said thoughtfully. 'I think I need to speak to him. Could you please arrange it? Or am I fit to get out of bed?'

'I think you've rested enough. There's nothing more to do but wait until time heals your wound fully. But don't worry yourself. I'll arrange a meeting for the two of you. He wishes to speak to you, anyhow.'

Harry nodded, and she left the room, taking the map with her. Feeling unsure of how things would turn out, Harry began to get dressed.

* * *

Eragon awoke with the sunlight shining onto his face, thinking about his mother. It was this day, almost sixteen years ago, that she had returned to Carvahall, pregnant with Eragon. After he was born, she had begged Garrow and his late wife Marion to raise him, until they relented. She had then departed once more and never come back. Nor had Eragon's father, whose identity remained inconclusive and puzzling to this day. After quickly washing and once more examining the stone, he headed to the kitchen, where Roran and Garrow both sat, eating chicken.

Roran was a couple of years older than Eragon. He was muscular, sturdy and more of a real brother than Eragon could have ever hoped for. He had the ability to grow a beard, although he never did, preferring to shave, which Eragon envied him for. Roran was also in love with Katrina, Sloan's daughter, and Eragon believed they would plan to marry soon.

'I'm glad you're back,' Roran smiled. 'How was the hunting?'

'Didn't uncle tell you what happened?'

'No,' Roran replied, curious. Eragon quickly told him about the stranger he had found unconscious, and how he had carried him to Carvahall. That impressed Roran greatly. He also mentioned the blue stone he had found, which Roran was interested in. Before he could ask to see it, however, Garrow cleared his throat.

'That reminds me,' he said importantly. 'Albriech came by earlier. He said this "stranger" was awake, and wanted to speak with you. I suggest you leave soon, else it will be too late. Picking the harvest will take time later on.'

'Maybe I can persuade him to lend a hand,' Eragon suggested.

'You'll do no such thing,' Garrow said sharply. 'He could still be hurt, for all we know. That debt can be saved until later.'

'Very well, uncle.'

After breakfast, Eragon departed for Carvahall alone. Roran had decided to remain behind, saying that it would be best to start harvesting the crops as soon as possible. As always, it took a few hours of walking to reach the village, but Eragon always considered the journey worthwhile. It was good for truly waking a person up and the scenery was rather enjoyable in the good weather. Thankfully, it was one of those days, so Eragon's spirits were high as he entered the village.

He knocked on Gertrude's front door without hesitation, and she quickly answered.

'Come on in,' she greeted.

He thanked her and entered, allowing her to lead him up the simple, wooden staircase. She led him to one of the two rooms; the smaller one, by the looks of things. Gertrude nodded encouragingly, and he entered, feeling rather nervous.

The boy was sitting on the end of the newly-made bed, looking at an old map of Alagaesia. He had a long, thin stick in his hand, and was tapping the map with it, muttering to himself slowly. Gertrude gently closed the door behind him and retreated down the stairs.

'Ehm…' Eragon said, to announce his arrival. The boy looked over his shoulder and stood up, quickly storing the stick in his back pocket.

'Hello. You're Eragon, aren't you?'

Eragon nodded. 'I don't know your name.'

The boy momentarily touched a thin, lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, but then quickly lowered his hand.

'I'm Harry. Harry Potter.'

'You have two names?' Eragon asked confusedly.

'Well, ye-'

I'm sorry, that was rude of me,' Eragon said quickly. He extended his hand. 'Nice to meet you, Harry Potter.'

Harry smiled and shook Eragon's hand. 'Just call me Harry. Where I come from, Potter is a second name. It's not used in the same way as a first name.'

Eragon nodded in understanding. 'Where do you come from?'

'Oh, I come from a land far, _far_ away.'

'You aren't from Alagaesia?' Eragon queried, raising his eyebrows. He knew there must be lands across the sea, but didn't know of anyone from there who lived in the domain of The Empire.

Harry shook his head, then grimaced, hoping these people wouldn't take the "M" word the wrong way. 'Eragon, have you ever heard of magic?'

Eragon raised his eyebrows even higher. 'Who hasn't?' he asked rhetorically. 'Around here, magic is revered and feared because of the Dragon Riders.'

Now it was Harry's turn to look surprised. 'The who?' Back in England, Dragons certainly weren't ridden; they'd sooner tear you limb-from-limb.

'You don't know who the Dragon Riders were?' Eragon shook his head disbelievingly. 'I've never met anyone who doesn't know… let's see… the Riders were a legendary group of magicians, united in both power and honour. They served the people, whether by curing diseases or fighting off evil creatures, and were loved in turn. But, they were betrayed by one of their own… and…' he paused. 'You should really ask Brom. He's the town storyteller. He's one of the only real sources of information for Dragons and the Riders that still exists. All I know are the basics.'

'No problem,' Harry said. 'I can speak to him later.' Since this possibly wasn't the same planet and its inhabitants knew about magic already, Harry had nothing to fear by giving out information about the Wizarding World; although, he didn't want to hand it out on a silver platter – he would keep it to a bare minimum.

'Well, I owe you an explanation for saving my life, which I want to thank you for. If it wasn't for you, I would have died out there.'

'No problem, I just did what was right.'

Harry nodded. He knew the importance of saving lives, although he hadn't always succeeded in the past.

'Well, to be frank, I was transported to this world by magic, and I have no idea how to get home.'

To Harry's immense relief, Eragon didn't look surprised. On the contrary, he looked rather thoughtful.

'I believe you. Quite simply because I found something that was also transported by magic: a blue stone. Is that the object? If it is, you can have it back, of course.'

'Was it glowing blue, or was it actually blue?' Harry queried.

'It was blue itself.'

'Did it have a carved pot attached to it? There was a curled snake chiselled into the design.'

'No, I'm afraid not.'

Harry was disappointed, to the say the least. 'That isn't it, then. But could I please see it, anyway? It's possible the shape changed… somehow.'

Eragon nodded again. 'Yes, of course. It's back at my home, a couple of hours away. Do you feel up to a long walk?'

'Believe me, I'm used to them by now.'

Eragon chuckled and held the door open for Harry, who thanked him and descended the stairs quickly. Harry hoped he had made a friend, for he would need those in abundance if he was to spend time in this land. Eragon wordlessly agreed with that trail of thought.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three – A New Home**

As the Sun crept over the tall trees of the Spine in the wee hours of morning, many inhabitants of the village known as Carvahall were awake and preparing themselves for the day's work to come. Merchants tended to their wares, making sure nothing had disappeared, farmers tended to their livestock and their crops, whilst others simply fetched water from the town well, or began to wash an assortment of clothes. Harry Potter was no different in being used to starting his day early. Resigned to the fact that he was, for the time being, stuck in this land, he decided he might as well be as comfortable as possible and so began to build his own house after two days of staying in Garrow's moderate home.

True, he was offered more time if necessary, but Harry decided not to intrude any longer. They were already cramped for space, and he had no intentions of making things worse. So, as he searched for a way home, he began to lay the foundations (literally), for what seemed like a possible long stay in Alagaësia. As well as that, he told Eragon, Roran and Garrow exactly how he had come to be there, albeit in a roundabout way. He told them:

"'_Magic of an evil sort transported me here; an object created by the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time – Lord Voldemort. Unfortunately, I have no idea where I am in relation to Earth, so I can't figure out how the "Portkey" – that's what the object is called – works. As far as I can see, I'm stuck here until I can figure something out.'"_

He purposefully left out any mention of the Wizarding World; if worst came to worst, and he was stranded there forever, he might tell them more about it. For now, he began to make his own way, although he didn't refuse any help the farmer had to offer him, including a set of tools. So, after much planning out Harry began to cut down trees and shape them into wooden planks. All seemed to be going well, until he remembered what Hermione had said about "increasing the quantity" of an object. Harry had no idea how to spawn anything besides water, but he did have an idea of replicating objects. Realising that cutting down half a dozen trees was unnecessary, he began to manipulate the core of one tree-trunk instead, convincing it to expand and multiply. It took a day to master, but eventually he was able to successfully create new tree-trunks of wood from existing ones. Creating new trees in place of those he had cut down was far more problematic, possibly because they were living beings. The spell he used was _"Multiplicare"_, which, of course, multiplies an object. He could have used _"Gemino"_, but it wasn't permanent, lasting only for several hours at a time.

The house he made simple, with the foundations measuring thirty by thirty metres, and the walls being just over three metres high. It only contained four rooms, and no first floor – a bedroom, a kitchen, a cold cellar and a living room, although he doubted that particular room was normal in Carvahall. It wouldn't have any of those comfortable chairs like the Gryffindor common room, but he did add in a couple of wooden seats. Besides that, it was completely bare at present. He intended to use it for tools, washing clothes, or whatever else it may be needed for. He fully anticipated… maybe not a _rough_ lifestyle, but most certainly a tougher one than he was accustomed to. Still, living in a tent for the better part of a year meant that he knew what to expect, and he would be able to handle it well, whenever the time arrived.

In terms of furniture, there was a very simple wooden table in the kitchen, the chairs aforementioned, some shelves, doors and a bed. The mattress and pillow had been difficult to sew, but he had just about managed it using some old sheets Garrow had given him. In return for saving his life, Harry had offered Eragon his services in helping out on their farm, which is what Eragon had previously hoped for. It meant that he _could_ take Horst's offer after all, and Garrow would not be deprived of an extra set of hands in the springtime.

The next day, after building the house (Harry managed the task in one day, thanks to magic), Eragon guided him around Carvahall, helping him pick out various things he would need, such as cutlery, firewood and fresh sheets, as well as showing him around the "unessential" shops, like Morn's tavern and Sloan's butcher's shop.

'How is meat non-essential?' Harry had asked.

'I didn't say "meat" was unessential; I said Sloan's shop is unessential, because, like us, you don't have any money, so I'll have to teach you how to hunt. In fact, I don't even know why I'm showing you around when you can't buy anything,' Eragon replied sheepishly.

Harry grinned solemnly, hoping that he could trust Eragon; which, he believed he could. 'That's where you're wrong. Do you have any coins with you?'

'Just a crown; why?'

'Can I see it, please?' Harry asked, holding his hand out.

Eragon hesitated for a half-second, then obliged. Harry found an alleyway which appeared to be deserted, and drew his wand.

'What are you going to do?' Eragon asked curiously.

Harry pointed his wand at the coin in his hand, and whispered: _'Multiplicare!'_

Just like with the dead tree-trunks earlier, the coin slowly began to replicate into a dozen others, and would have continued until Harry passed out from exhaustion, but he stopped the flow of magic after a dozen others had been created.

Eragon's eyes widened in sheer wonder. 'That… is incredible.'

'Ah, it's nothing, really. But, it does mean that anytime you need money, all you have to do is ask. It's the least I can do to repay everything you and your family have done for me,' Harry said. He genuinely meant it, as well. He quickly flicked the crown back to Eragon and brandished the other dozen.

'You know what?' Harry asked, weighing the coins in his hand. 'I think I'm going to have a little aiming practice. You want to watch?'

'Sure… but, how do the coins come into it?'

'You'll see.'

Harry's new house was located half a mile from Garrow's farm in the direction of Carvahall. After walking there, they headed onto the field, concealed behind the house. He handed eleven of the twelve coins to Eragon.

'Hold those, please…' Then, with lightning-fast reflexes, he turned on the spot and threw the other coin far and high. Without slowing down, he grabbed his wand and shouted: '_Expulso!' _With a very loud bang, the coin exploded into a thousand pieces, sending miniscule fragments flying through the air in every direction.

_Hell of a shot_, Harry thought happily. _Sirius would've been proud._

Eragon was likewise impressed. 'Nice aim; wish I could do that with an arrow.'

'To be honest, that was an absolute fluke,' Harry admitted.

Eragon shrugged. 'Still, it was impressive.'

'Thanks.'

Harry lowered his wand slowly, thinking. 'Do you know anyone else that can use magic around here?'

Eragon shook his head morbidly. 'I'm afraid not; it's a very rare gift – Magicians either join the Varden or the Empire.'

'Who are the Varden?'

'A group of rebels that fight King Galbatorix's rule over the land,' Eragon explained. 'They believe he is evil, and are probably right about that…'

'Great... another evil person in the world. That's exactly what I need to hear.'

'Hmm… Well, he leaves us alone, for the most part. His tax collectors are relentless, however, and the Empire has never helped Carvahall in times of great need.'

'Maybe the Varden are right, then. But… how did someone like that get chosen to be king?' Harry asked confusedly.

'He wasn't chosen – he declared himself king, and, because of his powers as a Dragon Rider, no one opposed him.'

'He's a Rider?'

'Yes. You should really wait until the traders come to town, though. When they do, old Brom always tells the tale of the Riders.'

'That's the second time you've mentioned this "Brom" when talking about Dragon Riders. I think I need to meet him.'

Eragon noticed how Harry said "need to meet", rather than "I'd like to meet". He understood why; Harry was probably hoping that Brom could help him get back home.

'You will… soon. If the traders don't show up in the next week or so, I'll bring you to see him personally.'

'How do know when they're due?'

'Because they're already late.'

* * *

The next few days passed by without any sign of the traders, but Harry was too distracted to notice. He was too busy adding the finishing touches to his new home, such as the fire and chimney, which proved tricky to make. Eventually, however, he finished his task and stood back to admire his handiwork.

_If only we could have done this when we were on the run_, Harry observed one night. He was lying in bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. Just about everything was made out of wood…

He felt an overwhelming rush of emotion as an image of Ginny appeared in his mind, and he found himself unable to clear it. She was smiling warmly, looking prettier than ever before. But, instead of feeling comforted by her presence in his mind, he felt a single tear slide down his cheek and fall onto the floor. He missed her so much it hurt him; physically hurt him.

As much as it did, he had to put her out of his mind. He wouldn't permanently remove the memory as he had seen Snape do, but he would try to put it to the back of his mind – for now, at least. The more he thought about it, the more he realised the haunting truth: he was stuck here, with no way home, for the foreseeable future. And in Harry's mind the "foreseeable future" stretched many years ahead of the present. So, he would try to forget about the Wizarding World for now, for it would be nought but an unseemly distraction. Also, if he ever made it back, the rush of euphoria would be even greater than it would under normal circumstances.

He confirmed in his mind that _none_ of his teleportation techniques would ever have the desired effect – the Portkey was gone, as he had discovered two days ago when Eragon escorted him to the point where Harry had appeared He had no Floo Powder (which wouldn't work anyway, as no fireplace would be connected to the Floo Network), he had no idea how to make another Portkey, and his apparition was blocked, somehow. That was Harry's best bet – apparition. If he could find some way to break the hold Voldemort's curse had over him, he could disapparate. Unfortunately, he had had no success as of yet, and didn't expect to ever have any.

_What if it's not a curse? _he asked himself. _What if it's my own powers preventing me from trying it, because they know I'll die from the attempt? If I'm on another planet, I __will__ die trying, after all…_

A couple of days later, nine days since Harry appeared in Alagaësia, he got a surprise visit from Eragon's cousin, Roran. Slightly taller than Harry and being quite muscular, Harry found him rather intimidating, although his very pleasant personality begged to differ.

He nodded at Harry. 'Evening, Harry; I was sent on ahead to let you know that the traders have finally made it to Carvahall. Eragon's just getting that strange blue stone of his, and then we're travelling into town. Care to join us?'

'Sure,' Harry replied eagerly, 'I'll be there in a second.' He quickly gathered up everything he would need, including the money he had formed the previous night. Rather than his old robes, he now wore far less conspicuous clothes, consisting of a shirt, trousers, and a pair of boots, all similar to that which the men of Carvahall wore. Afterwards, he rejoined Roran on the porch of his new home.

'They said to wait here, if that's alright?'

'No problem. So… I hear you're involved with a lovely young lady called Katrina?' Harry asked, grinning. Eragon had told Harry how he was envious of his cousin's good luck.

Roran chuckled. 'Yes. In fact, I'm hoping to marry her soon.'

'At eighteen? Bit young, don't you think?'

'No, why would I?' Roran asked confusedly.

'Well, it's just… oh wait, sorry, my mistake. I'm thinking of home again.' Harry shook his head, chuckling humourlessly. 'I forgot things are different here,' he explained.

'Nah, that doesn't matter,' Roran waved away, 'I understand there are probably a lot of cultural differences between us. You just need some time to adjust, if you haven't found a way home, of course.'

'Yeah… I think I'll probably have that time, after all.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

Harry was about to agree with him, when Garrow's wagon came down the road and after a few minutes, stopped beside them. The two of them got on the back beside Eragon, and Garrow set off towards the town.

The three teenagers sitting in the back of the wagon kept a continuous conversation going as they journeyed on, talking about the first thing that popped into their minds, whether it be a random thought, or what the traders may have at their show this year. During that time, Harry tended to listen, rather than talk.

They reached Carvahall just as noon arrived. As they entered, they saw that the traders had set up their camp in an empty field, on the outskirts of the town. Their tents, wagons and fires were spread randomly throughout the field, being the only spots of colour against the snow covering the ground. Harry didn't mind the snow at all; in fact, he welcomed it, as it gave this place a profound sense of realism. Aside from those few things, the first thing he noticed was the smell of roasted hazelnuts, filling the air with a rich aroma.

Garrow withdrew some money and handed it to Roran, who quickly departed. Harry was about to do the same, but Eragon shook his head.

'You should come with us, if you want to. This could be important.'

Harry shrugged and followed them. They were looking for a merchant known as "Merlock", as Eragon told him. They soon found him, displaying brooches and other pieces of jewellery to a group of women. As they waited for the group to depart, Harry inquired as to Merlock's persona.

'He's a merchant in jewellery,' Eragon explained, whilst Garrow spoke to Merlock. 'I think he's friendly enough. But, you should watch out for some of the other traders. They're pleasant enough for the most part, but if you question their views, or accuse them of wrongdoing, you'll be in a lot of trouble. We've had more than one duel in the past.'

'Nice. I assume someone is killed in these duels?'

'Yes.'

'Oh, joy.'

Garrow soon beckoned for them to join him, which they did. Merlock led the way to his tent, where he examined the stone. They then spoke of value, and the possibility of selling the stone. To Garrow's disappointment, Merlock ascertained that the stone would be incredibly difficult to sell. Eragon wasn't too concerned; now that Harry had offered him never-ending money, he didn't see any reason to sell the stone, not that he would ever become pretentious enough to consider relying on Harry for the rest of his days.

'Why did you insist on talking to me in private?' Merlock asked curiously.

Eragon put the stone away before answering. 'Because I found this in the Spine, and folks around here don't like that – they're weary of the mountains.'

'Afraid,' Harry contributed. Merlock looked at him with interest.

'I don't recall ever seeing you before. Are you new to these parts?'

Eragon had told Harry how to reply in the event of such a question. 'Yes, I'm from Narda. I moved here only a few months ago to be closer to my relatives,' he nodded towards Eragon and Garrow, 'after my mother died of a fever.'

Merlock nodded sympathetically. 'I'm sorry to hear that. I regret to say that she is not the only loss of life in these troubled times.'

'Oh?' Garrow asked, raising his eyebrows.

'Yes... I'm afraid that the reason we were so late this year is that we have suffered grave misfortune. With the intensity of the Varden's attacks, Galbatorix has been forced to send more soldiers to the borders, leaving other areas vulnerable to attack, or rather, _slaughter_, at the hands of the Urgals. The Urgals themselves have been migrating southeast, towards the Hadarac Desert, although no one knows why. Even worse are reports of a Shade, although it is unconfirmed if it exists.'

Harry listened as they exchanged words, Eragon first demanding to know why they weren't told sooner, with Merlock responding, and so on. Eventually, they left the merchant's tent and headed back to the wagon. 'I'm going to see what I can trade,' Garrow said. 'Eragon, put that stone back in the wagon, then do what you want. I'll meet you both for dinner at Horst's.' He inclined his head towards Harry, and then departed.

'So, what are we doing?' Harry asked.

Eragon shrugged in response. 'Whatever there is, which is a lot.'

They walked around for a bit, examining the wares on sale, before buying several sticks of malt candy. Harry thought they tasted similar to something he had once bought in Hogsmeade, although he couldn't remember the exact name.

'Uh oh,' Eragon said suddenly.

'What's wrong?'

'Sloan,' Eragon pointed to a rather fat, bald man.

'Oh, he's the butcher you were telling me about, isn't he?'

Eragon nodded in response. 'Come on; I don't want any trouble here.'

'You don't have to be afraid of him,' Harry pointed out.

'I'm not! It's just… complicated.'

'Complicated is fine by me. I want to check out the tavern anyway.'

They entered Morn's tavern, which was very warm and filled with greasy smoke, emanating from tallow candles. The Urgal horns Garrow had mentioned were mounted above the door; Harry noticed that the bar was completely full, probably being used as a refuge from the bitter cold outside. Two of the traders were talking to a large group of people, in what seemed like a heated discussion.

'I wonder what they're saying…' Harry muttered. He strode over to the group, followed by Eragon.

'It is only with the king's unceasing efforts on your behalf that you are able to argue with us in safety. If he, in all his wisdom, were to withdraw that support, woe unto you!' one of the traders said loudly.

Someone shouted: 'Right, why don't you also tell us the Riders have returned and you've each killed a hundred elves? Do you think we're children to believe in your tales? We can take care of ourselves!'

What followed that outburst was one of the fieriest arguments Harry had ever heard; even Eragon took part at one stage. Still being a stranger, and not wishing to cause trouble, Harry absented himself from the discussion. They left the bar ten minutes later; Eragon was seething with anger.

Harry grabbed his arm to stop him.

'What, in the name of Merlin, was that all about?'

'I'll explain later,' he vowed. 'Right now, we need to go to Horst's.'

* * *

Two hours later, Harry was once again outside, this time in anticipation of something important. Dinner at Horst's had been hearty, as he had been treated like a member of the town.

_Which, in a sense, I suppose I am, now…_

After a few minutes of waiting, the troubadours came tumbling out of their tents, dressed in tasselled clothing, followed by older and statelier minstrels. The minstrels provided music and narration, as their younger counterparts acted out the stories. The first plays were pure entertainment: bawdy and full of jokes, pratfalls and ridiculous characters. Later, however, when the candles sputtered in their sockets and everyone was drawn together in a tight circle, the old storyteller, Brom, stepped forward. A knotted grey beard rippled over his chest, and a long black cape was wrapped around his bent shoulders, obscuring his body.

Almost as soon as he began to speak, Harry found himself completely mesmerised; he listened intently as Brom told his incredible, and heartbreaking, tale of the Riders. He spoke of elves, dwarves, and, most of all, the betrayal of a young Rider, Galbatorix. His tale was one of courage, sorrow, lies, deceit, and bonding between man and dragon. He talked of the Forsworn, an evil group of thirteen Riders who pledged themselves to Galbatorix. Lastly, he spoke of Vrael, leader of the Riders, and his failed attempt to defeat Galbatorix.

When he had finished, Harry was close to tears. He wasn't alone, either; others were crying silently, and even Brom had a single tear sliding down his cheek. Any questions Harry may have had were soon temporarily forgotten. As he prepared to leave for home, he overheard Garrow speak to Eragon and Roran.

'Consider yourselves fortunate; I have only heard this particular version twice in my entire life. If the Empire knew that Brom had recited it, he would not live to see a new month.'

Harry shook his head disbelievingly as he fastened the new cloak he had bought from the traders. If he was to stay in Alagaësia, it looked as though he would have another tyrant to deal with...


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four – Destiny's Next Hand**

The two figures dressed in black stood with their arms crossed, staring through their hoods at the man they had tied to the chair, wondering who he was. He was an old man, with greying hair and a now-indiscernible facial expression, due to the fact that he was unconscious. They had tortured him badly, using the Seithr oil, but he had still refused to cooperate. They had no new information, aside from the fact that the stone had been brought here.

With a slight groan, the old man awakened. The Ra'zac did not move, or change stance. They merely stared at him with unreadable expressions; unreadable, because their faces were completely hidden in shadow, a fitting place for the foul creatures.

'So, you rejoin us…' the taller monster hissed silently.

The man's breathing came out in ragged gasps; he was struggling to stay alive. The oil must have burned parts of his lungs and trachea.

'I'll…never…tell you…anything,' he panted.

The smaller Ra'zac leaned over and gripped his throat. 'Oh, but I'm afraid you will…' It brought his eyes up to meet its own, hidden abominations. 'You will…'

_**Three months earlier…**_

Life in Carvahall had taken a turn for the better in Harry's case. He was now fitting in with the rest of the townspeople perfectly. He wore the clothes that they did, bought his supplies from the merchants, and socialised primarily with two of them: Eragon and Roran. He didn't laze around, either; on the contrary, he worked day and night, helping Garrow with his farm and exercising regularly.

He did this for two very good reasons. Firstly, it allowed him to get into shape properly. He may be stuck living in Carvahall, but he wasn't living in a tent, either. He was healthier than ever before, in terms of both eating and keeping fit. He hadn't been too bad in Hogwarts, as opposed to Privet Drive, but in Hogwarts the food was very heavy, and no one ever really burned it off, not even the Quidditch teams. After a few weeks of his pre-established routine, he put on a few kilograms in weight. However, he didn't let it store as fat, preferring to burn it off and allow it to spread out slowly. Soon, he looked less like a skeleton, and more like a living person. The second reason was simple: it helped to keep his mind off of home, although he was continuously missing it less and less.

That, in turn, had a reason behind it. For the first time in his life, he was _truly_ happy. Not only because he knew Voldemort was gone, but also because he was free of rules, limitations and boundaries. True, he did _not_ tell anyone other than Eragon about his magic, but he was now free to practice it in peace. At one time, in what seemed like another lifetime, he was content when he had first arrived home, at Hogwarts. However, this outweighed even that. Other people, such as Ron, might have felt differently, but Harry wasn't one of those people. That was the only thing that caused his happiness to remain incomplete: the noticeable absence of Ron, Hermione and Ginny. If the four of them were there together, Harry would have been the cheeriest man in the universe. Voldemort's curse was actually looking quite tame now.

As it stood, however, he was forced to make do without his friends and try to survive alone… sort of.

The day after Brom had spoken of the Dragon Riders, Eragon had knocked on Harry's front door frantically, as though hell itself were chasing after him. Harry had opened it quickly, wondering what was going on. It was the crack of dawn. As soon as he opened the door, Eragon rushed inside, carrying a bundle of rags in his arms; a bundle of rags that appeared to be _squirming_. A soft humming noise was emitting from the bundle.

Eragon made sure the room was empty, then turned to Harry, panting. It appeared he had run the mile-long distance.

'Harry… forgive me for barging in like this… but, I need your help,' he said _very_ quickly.

'Whoa, whoa!' Harry said hastily, holding his palms up. 'Slow down, will you? You look like you're ready to drop dead!'

Eragon grinned. 'If I can carry you from The Spine to Carvahall, I think… I can manage,' although he did take a few seconds to regain his breath. The rags appeared to move again. Eragon looked down at them, almost pityingly.

'You're not going to believe what this is,' Eragon murmured. He hesitated, then set the armful of rags down on Harry's kitchen table, and slowly opened them out. Harry instinctively recoiled as soon as he saw what was beneath them. It was a sapphire-blue dragon, with a fairly triangular head, and a dignified composure. But, that wasn't what caught Harry's attention; instead, his eyes were focused on the line of spikes running down the dragon's spine, and the very sharp-looking white claws. He took a step backwards.

'Eragon… where did you find… _it_?' he asked slowly, not really sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

Eragon looked up at him, with pleading eyes. 'Promise me you won't tell anyone,' he begged.

Harry looked at him determinedly. 'I won't… _if_ you answer my questions.'

'Okay,' he replied hastily.

Harry took a deep breath. 'Where did you find it?' he repeated.

'The blue stone.'

'The… the what?' Harry asked, not immediately catching on.

'The blue stone; or, rather, blue egg,' Eragon explained.

Harry felt a rush of self-blaming fly into his conscious mind, and absent-mindedly smacked his fist against his forehead.

'How didn't I see it earlier?' he muttered, more to himself, than to Eragon. 'I've seen a dragon egg before,' he announced, 'over seven years ago.'

'That's a long time... maybe you'd just forgotten what they looked like,' Eragon suggested.

Harry shook his head, holding his hand in place for a few seconds, before looking up once more. 'You don't ever forget something like that, especially because I was forced to _fight_ a different dragon a few years later.'

'You had to _fight_ one?' Eragon exclaimed.

'It's a long story.'

'Oh. Listen, I have a favour to ask of you.'

Harry raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised that he could manage to raise only one. 'What is it?'

Eragon hesitated. 'It's- well, I… Look, I can't keep it in my home; Garrow would never allow it. I'd make it a good shelter in the forest somewhere, but… I was hoping you could help me out, instead.'

Harry was shocked. 'You want _me_ to raise a _dragon _for you?' he burst out, perhaps a little too extremely.

'No, no, not _raise_, just _look after_,' Eragon dismissed quickly. His time was limited, else Garrow and Roran would note his peculiar absence. 'I'd bring it food myself. I wouldn't ask you to use that much. It ate an entire armful of meat a while ago!'

'Yeah, I'm very aware of their eating routines…' Harry said with a touch of sarcasm. 'However, you don't have to worry about that. I can't make food appear, but, if you can bring me some, I can increase its quantity to as much as is needed.'

'Yes, that's no problem,' Eragon said quickly. Harry smiled at his friend's demeanour.

Harry sighed with an air of finality. 'I will look after it, but not forever. It'll grow too big to be kept in this house in a few months' time. When that happens, we'll have to think of something else.'

'We? Don't you mean: me?' Eragon asked causiously.

Harry shook his head. 'No, I'll always be there to help, mate. You saved my life... and after the tale Brom told last night… well, I don't think I could ever forgive the king for his atrocities against such magnificent creatures. The dragons from my own home are wild and untamed, but those of Alagaësia sounded completely different.' Harry spoke wisely, truthfully not knowing where his words were coming from. They just seemed to pop into his mind completely naturally. He was unsure of what to do a few minutes ago; nevertheless, after remembering Brom's story, he made up his mind. 'I promise you,' he continued, clasping Eragon tightly on the shoulder, 'that I'll help look after… err… what's its name?'

'I don't have a name yet,' Eragon admitted. 'I was going to go and talk to Brom tomorrow and see if he can give me any ideas. Besides, I don't know if it's a he, or a she.'

Harry removed his hand. 'Have you checked?'

'Yes, but I couldn't tell.'

Harry felt slightly awkward at those words. 'You _do_ know how to tell, don't you?'

Eragon flushed slightly. 'Of course. I just meant that I couldn't see... anything. It's possible it just won't… err… _show up_, until the dragon's fully grown.'

'Okay, I'll take your word for it,' Harry said quickly, hoping to change the topic. 'Eragon… what's that on your hand?' he asked, noticing a mysterious silvery-mark on his palm.

'Oh, I don't have a clue,' he replied, holding his hand up and examining it curiously, as though he had only just noticed it. 'It appeared after I first touched the dragon.'

'You _touched _it?' Harry exclaimed. He shook his head in disbelief. Even though Brom's story had touched his heart greatly, he would always remember his own experiences around dragons in the Wizarding World. They were feral creatures back home, and he would be wary of any he encountered in Alagaësia, no matter how majestic they appeared to be. He certainly wouldn't have just _touched_ one.

'It was scared, and I was trying to reassure it,' Eragon said defensively. 'Besides, it seemed docile, and it hasn't harmed me... I think.'

'You _think_?'

'Well… it _did_ hurt when I felt it, but I don't think it was the dragon's fault. It was just a surge of energy shooting through my body.'

Harry almost laughed at the way he said "just a surge of energy" as though it were the most common thing in the world. After his own experiences, Harry certainly wouldn't have been as nonchalant as that.

'Maybe that's a link they have between them…' Harry wondered.

'A link that who has?' Eragon asked.

'Dragons and their Riders; don't tell me you didn't make that connection.'

Eragon looked shocked. 'Are you saying that I'm a- a Rider?'

'So, you didn't make that connection, then?'

'Well, I considered it; but, I was only toying around with the idea.'

Harry stood up straight. 'Well, you can stop toying, because I think the idea just became _very_ real.

* * *

A whirlwind of events, unexpected discoveries and the task of helping look after a dragon occupied Harry's attention for the next two months. The dragon (Saphira, Eragon had named her), was both rowdy at times, and very subdued at others. Eragon had discovered it was a "she", due to a seemingly-modified version of Legilimency, whereby he could interact with Saphira's mind, as well as those around him. Not that Harry didn't trust Eragon - it was quite the opposite - but he had begun to deploy occlumency as soon as he had learned of Eragon's rare gift. For Eragon, it appeared… _effortless_.

Harry had never been a good Occlumens, probably due to the fact that Snape had been the one to teach him. However, he was now free to calm his mind at his own leisure, and soon discovered that Occlumency was much easier than he had first believed. After some practice, it became as simple as _thinking_ there were barriers surrounding his mind, and there really would be. It would undoubtedly require much more concentration and strength if he was attempting to resist someone employing Legilimency, but for the moment that was not the case. He had Eragon test his defences one day, and was happy to realise that he could tell automatically if someone was attacking his mental barriers. Eragon promised him he wouldn't intrude without permission.

That didn't surprise Harry in the slightest; Eragon was unlearned in any form of magic, and the new connection appeared to unease him. What disturbed Harry was what Eragon had said the previous day: '_I think you should know: Saphira can understand me. She can even speak back to me... she practically chose her own name.' _That freaked Harry out at first, but then he started to think about the Riders of old, and realised that they must have communicated with their dragons in some way, and vice versa.

_There must be an incredibly strong bond between dragon and Rider; otherwise, Galbatorix wouldn't have gone mad after his dragon died._ _What we do to dragons in the Wizarding World and how we treat them is completely wrong, _he eventually concluded. In truth, he thought that the idea of using dragons for sport was barbaric, as was gouging out their eyes and chaining them up underground, as they did in Gringotts. He now felt a large amount of sympathy for Hermione's organisation, S.P.E.W.

_House Elves are slaves, dragons are beasts… God, I could stay here and be happy_, he joked. But... was he really joking? The more he thought about it, the less-funny it seemed, and the more the idea appealed to him. _Eragon is a Dragon Rider. He'll have to either go up against the king, or join him, and I seriously doubt he would never join that honour-less bastard. He'll need my help when the time comes._

His mind wasn't the only thing that had changed in that time, either. Harry was now a much stronger person, weighing a respectable amount of weight and exercising constantly. He enjoyed the hard work on Garrow's farm - it gave him a great experience of how real life could be. If he had never arrived in Alagaësia, he would have undoubtedly had some different experiences, but that thought was now little more than a dream. As well as all of that, his hair grew even longer than it normally was. He hadn't gotten it cut since after the Battle of Hogwarts, until he decided enough was enough and cut it himself. His first result was disastrous; he had borrowed a pair of scissors and a mirror from Eragon and had sat down, without the slightest clue about what he was doing.

When he stood up twenty minutes later, his hair was cut in random places around his head, looking like a hedge that had grown completely wild. Realising how ridiculous he looked, Harry scowled and picked up the scissors again, determined to do it properly even if he had to sit there all night. Two hours later, he was happier with the results, although he wouldn't be winning any beauty contests anytime soon.

* * *

Eragon's life had changed dramatically in recent times, for obvious reasons. He now spent a great deal of time with Saphira, whether exploring the woods with her or merely speaking to her and listening in return. Sometimes, Harry would be with them, which was a good thing occasionally and a bad thing at other times. As Saphira grew, the link between their minds also did, and both were reluctant to open their minds to anyone, even Harry. However, after a time, Saphira decreed that she trusted Harry as much as Eragon did, and thanked him deeply for helping to raise her as a hatchling. In acknowledgement of this, she opened a link between her mind and Harry's, so they were able to talk directly. Of course, it wasn't the same as her relationship with Eragon; she did not allow emotions or thoughts to drift across the barrier, for which Harry was grateful. He did the same thing.

It took several days, but Harry was eventually able to recognise Saphira's consciousness, and she his. Eragon and Harry had already established a link between the two of them, so this formed a metaphorical triangle between the three minds. Although reluctant at first, Harry had become so fascinated with this form of magic that he reached out with his mind every night, just for the mysterious out-of-body sensation. Eragon hadn't taught him directly, only told him what it felt like and how he was able to do it. There had been some difficultly for a while, but, after endless hours of practising, Harry had been able to smash through the interior barrier that had previously encircled his mind.

One night, Eragon had seen fit to deliver some bad news. It was an hour until midnight, when Harry was lying in bed. He felt Eragon's presence outside his mind, and lowered the barriers encompassing it.

'_Harry, are you there?'_

'_Eragon?'_

'_Who else?'_

'_I don't know',_ Harry admitted humorously.

'_I know it's late, but… would you feel like talking for a while?' _Eragon asked hesitantly.

'_Well, yeah, but technically this isn't "talking", per se.' _

'_Seriously, though.' _

'_Okay…' _Harry frowned to himself. _Something must be up_, he thought to himself.

Eragon sighed across their mental link, seeming lonely and depressed. _'Roran's leaving,' _he said finally.

Harry was surprised. He had come to know Roran well and also called him a friend, so it upset him as well. He had always thought Roran would stay behind to help out until the next harvest.

'_Why?' _

'_He was offered a job as an assistant smith in Therinsford,' _Eragon said bitterly. _'He got the job two weeks ago, and is leaving tomorrow. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner, only… I just came to terms with it myself.'_

Harry nodded, but then remembered that Eragon couldn't see him. _'Perfectly understandable. I always liked to be alone when something was getting me down, as well. It's a problem I had difficulty overcoming.' _

'_Why is it a problem? It gives you time to reflect on your thoughts.' _

'_Because you get addicted to doing it,' _Harry said gently, _'and it isn't good to keep your thoughts and emotions bottled-up all the time.'_

'_I'll remember that.' _

'_Good.' _There was a slight pause, then:

'_How's Saphira?' _Eragon asked.

'_She's doing well, no change since you asked me half an hour ago,'_ Harry said, smirking.

'_I just got a little_ _worried,' he said defensively. 'I haven't been able to contact her in that time.' _

'_She's sleeping, I think.' _

After Eragon had asked Harry to help look after Saphira, Harry had added an extension onto the house, whereby he created a room for her to sleep in. Using magic, he tried out the trick Hermione had used on her beaded bag, and the Weasleys on their tent – he added a feature to the room, which made it bigger than it looked from the outside. That way, Saphira could grow comfortably for a few months, and would still be able to fit inside the "den". The task had taken him two days to complete, although it had definitely been worth it. When standing in the room, it was the size of the Gryffindor common-room, but from the outside it looked… well, didn't look "anything" from the outside, if that made sense. In order for the spell to work properly, there had to be a barrier shielding the room or object in question from plain sight, otherwise the human brain wouldn't be able to comprehend what it was seeing. For that reason, there was a door that always remained closed, unless someone was entering or leaving the room. Harry didn't know what the effects of looking into that room from the outside would be, and didn't particularly want to, either.

'_Very well_._ I'll let her rest. How are you doing?' _

'_Pretty good, actually. I'm not missing home at all anymore, except for that girl I told you about…' _

'_Ginny was her name, am I right?' _

'_Yes.' _

'_I'm sorry, but I'm sure you'll get over it with the aid of time and some hard work.' _

Harry chuckled. _'Yeah, I probably will... maybe I can find someone else to fall in love with.' _

'_Well, there are many women out there, even in Carvahall.' _

Not willing to talk about this any further, Harry changed the topic quickly. _'I think I'm going into town tomorrow. I need some new plates.' _

'_Did Saphira break your old ones?' _

'_No, I just felt like blowing something up.' _He could have repaired them easily, but fancied the idea of a long walk.

'_Hmm...__ sometimes I wish I could break whatever I'm standing beside as well.' _

Harry felt Saphira's mind brush alongside his, as did Eragon. _'Little one, is that you?' _she asked wearily.

'_It is_,' Eragon replied, sounding much happier already.

'_I'll think I'll leave you in privacy_,' Harry offered. _'I'm tired, anyway.' _

'_Goodnight, other little one.' _

Harry smiled and shook his head, before departing from the link and re-defending his mind. Silently, he lay there and allowed sleep to overcome him.

'_So, what do you think of him now?' Eragon asked Saphira. _

'_Knowing little of your people, and your culture, I would be slow to judge. However, I have to say that he strikes me as a kind, honest and loving person. I like him,'_ she replied in her calming "voice".

'_I agree with you on just about all of that, except for the part about my culture. I like to think I know quite a bit about it.' _

'_Perhaps, but maybe you still have much to learn.' _

'_As do you.' _

'_As do we all, little one. Goodnight.' _

'_Goodnight.'_

* * *

The next day Harry awoke promptly at dawn, planning his excursion into Carvahall for later during the afternoon. After dressing, he headed outside, yawning widely. However, as the first of the Sun's light ht him that fine morning, he got the urge to go straight into Carvahall and just walk around for the rest of the day. He barely had time to consider the option before Saphira flew overhead, making him jump.

_Looks like she can still fit through that window._ After building the den, he had installed a rectangular gap in the wall, so that Saphira could fly in and out at will.

He reached out for her mind carefully. _'You made me jump.' _

'_Too bad. I'm going to go hunt.' _

'Hmm…' Harry wondered why she was acting so uptight. _Probably because she misses Eragon_, he thought. _No matter how much I look after her, I will not, and cannot, ever take his place. _He shrugged and headed back into the house, already planning his trip into the village.

_I wouldn't particularly want to, either._

* * *

Eragon awoke hours later, planning to talk with Roran before he left for Therinsford. However, he couldn't bring himself to do so. Instead, he was unable to talk with him properly until they entered Carvahall to meet with Dempton, the miller. Eragon found him friendly enough, but was unable to harbour any good feelings towards him. As far as Eragon could see, it would have been better if the man had never arrived in Carvahall.

'You must be Eragon,' he said, extending his hand. 'I would of course offer you a job as well, but I'm afraid Roran has got the only one available. Perhaps in a year or two, eh?'

Eragon gave an uneasy smile and shook his hand, remaining silent.

'Very good,' Dempton said, before returning his attention to Roran. He began to explain how his mill in Therinsford worked.

'They're ready to go,' Horst interrupted, gesturing at the table, where several bundles rested. He beckoned to Eragon and left the smithy. Curious as to what Horst wanted, Eragon followed him quickly into the street. He noticed a pile of destroyed crates, and silently wondered what had happened to them.

'What do you think of him?' Eragon asked.

'Dempton? He is a good man; I'm sure Roran will do fine with his help. But, that isn't what I want to speak to you about.'

'Oh?' Eragon asked with renewed interest, raising an eyebrow. Horst put a hand on his shoulder.

'Lad, do you remember that fight you had with Sloan?'

'If you're asking for payment for the meat, don't worry; I haven't forgotten,' Eragon assured him quickly.

'No, I trust you, lad,' Horst replied, waving a hand dismissively. 'What I wanted to know is: do you still have that blue stone?'

Eragon felt his heart flutter apprehensively. _Why does he want to know that? Maybe someone saw Saphira! _With a forced sense of calm: 'I do, but why do you ask?'

'As soon as you return home, get rid of it. Two men arrived here yesterday; strange fellows dressed in black and carrying swords.' Horst shuddered. 'It made my skin crawl just to look at them. As soon as they arrived, they started asking people if a stone like yours had been found, and were at it again today.' Eragon felt his face whiten with fright. 'No one with any sense said anything – they all know trouble when they see it, BUT, I know a few people that WILL talk… eventually.'

Eragon's voice trembled. 'Thank you for warning me, Horst. Do you know where I could find them now?'

'I didn't warn you because I thought you needed to meet those men! You need to leave Carvahall. Go home.'

'All right,' Eragon said, to placate the smith. 'If you think that I should.'

* * *

_**One hour earlier...**_

Harry sat in Morn's tavern, trying his first ever glass of ale. He had turned eighteen a few weeks ago, and had planned an earlier trip than this, but there had been much to do. He didn't even tell Eragon it was his birthday, although he didn't really know why. He raised the glass to his lips for a third time, hoping it would taste better now. Mercifully, it did. The beverage wasn't quite up to the standards of Butterbeer or Fire-Whiskey, but it was fair enough. Rather than sit with anyone, he chose a seat at the bar, not planning to stay long. He was the only one to sit there.

He had given in to his love of the countryside, and had decided to walk into town much sooner than expected. It was probably a little early for drinking ale, but who would judge him?

After finishing the first drink, he decided to have another. What was the harm in that? Halfway through the glass, two mysterious figures in black cloaks entered the tavern and headed towards the bar. The chattering of the townspeople did not die away, but it lessened somewhat. Harry looked around interestedly, straightening his glasses.

They looked around them several times as they walked, then simultaneously brought their eyes around to meet those of the barman, Morn.

'Innkeeper,' the tallest one hissed, 'we have a few questions for you.' Harry felt his skin tingle with goose-bumps as they spoke. Carefully, he focused his hearing on their conversation. They were standing about five metres away now, opposite Morn.

'Y-yes?' Morn asked nervously.

The smaller figure leaned in closer to the bar. 'We are looking for a blue stone, which we believe was brought here several weeksss ago.'

Harry shuddered at the way he… no, _it_, said "weeks". Whatever these things were, they weren't human, and they knew about the egg, which meant that Harry had to do something. He reached cautiously for his wand, which was stored in a pocket on the inside of his shirt; one that he had created. He leaned further over the bar, so it wouldn't be obvious what he was doing. Morn gave his terrified response.

'I- I'm afraid I know nothing of such an object, and I know no one that does,' he said, a little more bravely.

The smaller creature hissed lowly, causing Morn to take a step backwards. It drew a sword quietly from its sheath. Morn paled.

'I would _hate_ to think you are being untruthful… because things would become _unpleasant_ for your _establishment_,' it threatened. It raised the sword and pricked Morn's neck, who backed up against the wall. Harry withdrew his wand and rested it on his knees, whilst everyone else continued with their drinking, blissfully unaware of what was happening.

'N-now t-that you m-mention it, I think I d-do know someone that can h-help you,' Morn said quickly, looking absolutely petrified. 'T-the b-b-butcher, Sloan, I think he k-knows a thing, or t-two.' He turned his head sideways as the sword was raised higher, but then relaxed as it was withdrawn.

'I hope, for your sake, that you aren't lying to usss,' the smaller one said, then replaced its sword and beckoned to its companion. Together, they left the tavern. Quickly, Harry sat his money on the bar and followed them outside, leaving Morn standing there, looking like he had stared Death in the face and just barely survived.

The day was still and calm outside, but nobody was in the streets. Either they were starting the day's work, or just awaking from the previous night's sleep. Harry was surprised to find the tavern open at all, let alone almost full.

He barely had time to look around for the creatures, however, before a blow to the back of the head sent him flying across the ground.

He quickly jumped to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in the back of his skull. The two of them stood there, looking at him. Quietly, they drew their swords and slowly advanced, side-by-side. Harry knew they didn't want him dead, else they would have killed him from behind. They were merely trying to intimidate him into surrendering.

Harry smiled solemnly. If that was the case and they weren't just being honourable, they were in for a surprise. He raised his wand quickly.

'_Expelliarmus!' _

A jet of red light erupted from the tip of his wand and hit the smaller creature directly in the chest, sending it packing into a pile of crates. Screaming, the taller one ran at him, brandishing its sword.

'_Incarcerous!' _The creature dodged his attack with lightning-fast reflexes, twisting around the ropes like a snake.

_God_, _I hate snakes_, Harry thought. _'Stupefy! Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus!' _But no matter what he tried, the creature avoided his every move. He was slowing it down, but that wouldn't last forever. In fact, at that exact point, it put on a dash of speed and charged at him. Feinting casting a spell, he strafed left and swung his leg around, cracking the creature straight in the chest, where it collapsed to the ground, stunned.

He was slightly surprised at his technique and reflexes.

_Lucky it wasn't wearing armour…_

Harry stared down at it in disgust, wondering just what the hell it was. He made a move to reach for its hood and pull it back, but didn't get very far. The one he had hit earlier chose that moment to smack him in the back of the head with the pommel of its sword, knocking him out cold.

* * *

Harry awoke with a groan, feeling an awful pain coursing through his body. He cleared his vision by blinking, first noticing that he was in Garrow's home. Secondly, he realised that he was tied down to a chair. He could hear one of the two creatures talking behind him.

'Oh, but I'm afraid you will…' It seemed as though it moved something. 'You will…'

'He is awake,' the other one declared.

Silently, the both walked around to Harry's front, and stood there, watching him.

'So, you rejoin usss… _magician_,' one of them whispered. 'You hoped to defeat usss? It is impossible… we are the Ra'zac, and we hunt your kind!'

Both Ra'zac looked at each other, before the taller of the two withdrew Harry's wand and examined it closely.

'Your weapon is a mysterious one. Where did you obtain it?'

'At a garage sale in Croydon, I think. Actually... I think it was lying in my attic a few years ago.'

The smaller Ra'zac punched him in the face, hard. Harry's head was forced around violently. Wincing, it brought it back to its normal position, and sat a mouthful of blood onto the floor at their feet.

'Go to hell,' he spat.

The small Ra'zac withdrew a small flask from its cloak and held it up for Harry to see clearly.

'Seithr oil,' it declared, as though it meant something to Harry. 'A most _effective_ form of torture, if used correctly. Would you like me to ussse it?' Its taller counterpart held Harry's wand to his eye, as though trying to see down it. Harry seized his possible one and only chance.

'Not particularly. _Imperio!'_

When nothing visible happened, the smaller Ra'zac laughed loudly, in a hoarse voice. Harry laughed as well, raising his eyebrows.

'Funny, isn't it? Now!' _Knock him out!_ Harry commanded. The taller Ra'zac raised a powerful-looking fist and struck its brother in the back of the head, toppling him over… again.

_Untie me!_

Powerless to resist, it brought out a short, silver knife and cut the ropes that bound Harry's arms and legs. He stood up and took his wand back, before stunning it directly in the face. Noticing Garrow for the first time, Harry ran over to his chair urgently. He recoiled as he saw dark, angry-looking burns covering his face and clothes.

_Those monsters. _Quickly and carefully, he released the farmer and carried him outside, unaware of both Ra'zac stirring. He leaned over and inspected Garrow's wounds, finding them very, _very_ bad. Grunting from the exertion, he carried the old farmer outside.

_Why didn't I ask Hermione about those healing spells? _He thought furiously. He jumped as he heard a loud crash inside the house, and brought his wand up to meet the front door.

'What the-' he exclaimed. The house was on fire. Rapidly, both Ra'zac came sprinting outside and bolted off down the road, avoiding Harry's stunning spell.

_Bloody hell, they're fast!_ He watched them disappear around the corner, then stored his wand inside the pocket of his trousers once more. He glanced at both Garrow and the house. Deciding that Garrow was more important, he threw him over his shoulder and headed quickly for Carvahall, keeping a watchful eye for the Ra'zac.

'_Eragon! Saphira! Where are you?!'_


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five – Departure **

As Saphira landed, Eragon felt his knees buckle and tried not to fall off of his high seat. His legs felt like they were made from rubber, and he was weak from the ravenous hunger that was making his stomach rumble furiously. Carefully, he dismounted and slid to the ground, falling onto his side as he did so. Saphira grumbled, feeling his pain.

'_Are you alright?' _she queried_._

'_I'm fine,' _he replied snappily, standing up in irritation_. _He was in no mood for talking. All that mattered was finding out if Garrow was okay. Saphira would have flown to their farm directly, but as it was, some of the townspeople were searching the scorched ruins of his beloved home, so they had been forced to stop on the edge of the woods, about two hundred metres from the farm. The sight brought a tear to his eye. However, there was one bit of good news counteracting all of the bad: if the townspeople were there, then they must have found Garrow by now.

Eragon thought carefully.

_Yes; by the time it would take someone to find the farm destroyed and send for help, he must have been found… unless there was nothing left to find. _Pushing that morbid thought from his mind, he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that Harry was alive and well, aiding in the search.

'_Harry! Over here!' _Eragon called with his mind. Harry froze and looked around urgently, trying to discern the location the thought had originated from.

_What was that expression he taught me? Oh, yeah: 'six o'clock!' _

Harry spun around, now looking directly at Eragon, who was carefully waving him over from behind the bushes nearby. Harry looked at Horst.

'I'm going to check the woods, just to make sure those disgusting creatures are gone.'

Horst grunted, keeping his eyes trained on the collapsed wooden beam he was attempting to shift. 'Be careful; that forest is dangerous. Holler if you see anything.'

Harry quickly hurried to Eragon's position across the scorched grass, hoping no unwelcome eyes would follow him. None did. He stepped into the forest a few metres, noting that Saphira was barely concealed behind the trees. If anyone wandered over there, they would surely discover her.

'Eragon!' Harry exclaimed in a whisper. 'Where in the _h__ell _have you been?' They clasped arms in greeting.

'When I heard about those two strangers looking for the egg, I knew they would try something like this if they found out I had it, so I hurried home. Unfortunately…' he hesitated, thinking of something to say that would not offend Saphira.

'_Unfortunately, I realised the need of protecting the little fool, and flew him halfway across The Spine,'_ Saphira growled, proclaiming her thoughts deliberately in a sarcastic manner that told Eragon to be careful with what he said.

'Well, it wasn't really halfway; more like a quarter-'

'Okay, I don't care about the distance!' Harry interrupted urgently. By force of habit, he straightened his glasses, even though it wasn't really necessary. 'Look, you need to disappear, both of you. They're searching for Eragon all around Palancar Valley, and now Horst is thinking of sending Albriech to Therinsford to alert Roran! If we keep up this charade, they're going to discover the truth, without any doubt.'

'What do you suggest, then?' Eragon queried.

Harry bit the inside of his lip, thinking about the map he looked at a few months ago. His memory of it was vague, but he was sure there were no safe havens within walking distance. But within _flying_ distance…

'If I cast a charm to make myself feather-light, could you fly us away from here?' Harry asked Saphira.

She didn't get a chance to answer, however. 'No!' Eragon exclaimed urgently. 'Not again! The insides of my thighs are already raw like bloody meat! I can barely walk, let alone fly again!'

'Bloody hell,' Harry muttered, scratching the stubble on his face and chin.

'Why do I even have to go anywhere?' Eragon asked. 'I have to make sure Garrow's alright, and then help rebuild the farm.'

Harry shook his head. 'Garrow is hurt, but he should be okay. I'm afraid that's not an option anymore.'

'Why not?' Eragon asked, feeling nervous with Harry saying Garrow "should be okay".

Harry looked his friend directly in the eye. 'They attacked me, Eragon. The strangers. I had to fight them off with magic. Any money says they're already returning to their boss to tell him about both of us. They'll be back,' Harry warned.

'What do you mean: "any money"?'

'Oh, nothing,' Harry dismissed. The cultural differences between the two of them could be frustrating at times. Even with his protests, Eragon knew that Harry was right; they would definitely return, and soon. The egg was invaluable to people like the king, who was probably the original owner. And if that was the case, staying in Carvahall was completely out of the question. Even if Harry had not intervened, they would still be back with great haste.

'You managed to fight them off?'

'Well, sort of… I mean, they obviously felt threatened by my magic, but they're stronger than any human. They managed to shrug off the effects of anything I could throw at them very quickly.'

'They're not human?' Eragon asked, completely astounded. He had suspected there was something definitely strange about them, but he hadn't thought they weren't human.

'Not a hope in hell.'

'That's very peculiar,' Eragon pondered, 'and deeply unsettling, I may add.'

'You may,' Harry said. 'It was very disturbing when they started talking – it felt like their voices were _dead_.'

'Yes, I heard them when Sloan was telling them about the egg. That's when I tried to run home.'

'Sloan _told _them?!' Harry felt anger rush into his body like a raging current of electricity. 'That two-faced bastard!' he swore furiously. 'Horst warned me he might talk, but I thought he was man enough not to!'

Eragon winced slightly. 'You should be careful not to repeat that around Sloan – he'll probably start a blood feud.'

'I don't care if he tries to emasculate me with that big bloody butcher's knife he owns! I'll curse him until he can't remember his own name or where he lives! Then we'll see if he decides to tell tales about anyone ever again!'

'Calm yourself,' Eragon chided, raising his hands consolingly. 'I need you to be composed, so we can figure out what to do.'

Harry fumed for another minute or so, then caught his breath slowly, allowing his anger to subside. 'Okay, I'm calm again.'

'Good. Now… options?'

'You could tell them the truth.'

'That is not amusing,' Eragon stated blankly. 'Who knows how they would react? And if those… things…'

'Ra'zac,' Harry said simply.

'…_Ra'zac_ return, they'll interrogate the entire village. No. The way I see it: the less they know the better off they will be.'

'You're probably right about that. You can't just walk out there and let them know that you've returned, either… they'll start questioning you.'

'I can hardly walk, anyway.' That was obvious enough: he was leaning against a tree for support, Harry realised.

Harry folded his arms and began to pace back and forth – a habit that he had picked up in the past couple of weeks. After a few minutes of silence, he stopped once more.

'Okay… first thing's first: do you trust me?' Harry asked.

'Yes…'

'Good, because you're going to have to let me take care of this,' he said, removing his wand. Eragon eyed it carefully.

'What are you planning?' he asked cautiously.

'I don't know how to heal wounds – we need to get you to Gertrude in a manner that won't arouse suspicion. Unfortunately, that doesn't involve you just walking out and announcing your presence.'

'So what, then?'

Harry shrugged. 'Simple. I'm going to stun you. I can tell everyone I found you lying unconscious in the forest.'

Eragon tried to disregard the thought that it would hurt an awful lot. 'And what do I tell them when they ask _why_ I was lying unconscious?'

'I don't know yet,' Harry said honestly. 'But don't worry: I'm going to think of something.' He raised his wand to chest-height.

Eragon flinched slightly, looking to put-off the moment for as long as possible. 'How long will I be out for?'

'Normally a few minutes. But I'm going to hit you extra-hard, so it'll most likely be several hours. Don't worry; when you wake up, you'll be safe in Gertrude's.'

'Does it hurt?'

Harry attempted to recall whether or not it had hurt when the D.A had been practising. Then he remembered. He could have lied, to put Eragon's mind at ease, but it was better to be truthful.

'Yes. _Stupefy!_' A jet of red light emanated from the tip of Harry's wand and smote Eragon directly where his heart should be. Harry aimed for that particular area on purpose; the shock the heart would receive was enough to send someone's blood-pumping measures into overdrive and subdue them for an extended period of time. For all intents and purposes, it was like a very, _very_ minor heart attack, albeit a non-lethal one, of course. If Harry had thought it was remotely dangerous, he wouldn't have tried it.

Saphira growled as the sensation of pain overcame her. It wasn't enough to knock her out as well, which Harry was grateful for. Having a pissed-off dragon wake up in your presence couldn't be a good thing for _anyone_. He looked up at her.

_'Fly, Saphira. Fly away._'

* * *

When Harry stepped out of the forest carrying the unconscious Eragon, there was understandably much confusion. He waved away their questions until they promised to help bring the young farmer to Gertrude. Horst had decided to go himself, leaving the rest of their party to dig up what remained of the house. Carefully, they set Eragon down in the back of the wagon they had brought for clearing wreckage. Not that it mattered to someone that was out cold, but they threw down a couple of blankets to keep him comfortable. Horst drove the wagon whilst Harry sat at his side, bracing himself for the sure-to-follow questions. It wasn't long before his suspicions were confirmed.

'So…' Horst began comfortably, 'you say you found him lying on the edge of the forest?'

Harry decided to keep his answers as simple as possible. 'Yes.'

'Hmm… is it possible he was running away from the fire?' There was a note of accusation in Horst's voice – it took Harry a moment to figure out why. He was suggesting it had been Eragon that had caused the damage.

'No – definitely not,' Harry said quickly.

Horst scoffed. 'How can you possibly know that?'

'I'm sorry, but I was under the impression that you actually _thought_ I knew the answer, otherwise you wouldn't have asked,' Harry said coldly. 'If you think that I don't know, why bother inquiring?'

'No, no, you misunderstand. I apologise if my temper is a mite short, but these are troubled times. We must get to the bottom of this mystery as soon as possible. What I meant is: how can you tell?'

'It's simple, really,' Harry shrugged. 'In my… land, they can tell how someone was moving from the position they were lying in and the area around them. I know parts of the method myself.'

'It sounds intriguing,' Horst admitted. 'Of all the tales you've told us of your land, that is perhaps the most unusual, including the tell-phone.'

'Telephone,' Harry corrected, the ghost of a grin forming. He had told several stories in Horst's house of the "wonders" of his world, although he had kept it as discreet as possible, making sure to never mention the Wizarding World. The townsfolk's inability to understand Harry reminded him vividly of explaining muggle lore to Mr. Weasley, or what it would be like if he had ever tried to explain about wizarding mythology to the Dursleys.

'Yes, that,' Horst nodded. 'As remarkable as it seems, however… I don't think any of the townspeople ever really believed in your fairy tales, except for the children.'

Harry raised his eyebrows, generally surprised. Did they think he was telling a bunch of tall tales? Now that he thought about it, it did make sense that they would believe that. After all, these people were _primitive_ in comparison to Earth technology and medicine, with "wonders" like telephones and even muskets out of their reach by decades, probably even centuries. He let the matter drop.

'Anyway, as I was saying: I found him lying in a position that suggests he was running _towards_ the farm. He most likely could smell the smoke, and wanted to find out what was happening.'

'I see,' Horst pondered. 'How did he pass out?'

'I think he tripped over a branch or a rock, and the impact just knocked him out cold. It's not unheard of.'

Horst was silent for a minute. Harry wondered if the blacksmith believed his story. As he had said, Harry was full of "fairy tales" – hopefully he didn't think this was another one.

'You know… you never did explain how your mouth got so badly swollen_ properly_.'

Harry shrugged again, this time as though it was an obvious answer. 'I found their house on fire, remember. When I got there, Garrow had been tortured and they had just finished igniting the place. What was I supposed to do?'

'Since they're very dangerous, I wouldn't have said fight them, if you had asked. Of course, I know you couldn't have asked, but… oh, you get the point,' Horst muttered, fumbling slightly. Harry chuckled.

'I figured that out physically. Luckily I know some pretty good fighting techniques from my own land, and was able to beat them off. One of them punched me in the jaw. It hurt like a bi- it hurt a lot.' Harry purposefully left out the details of what had happened in Carvahall. It would have been easy enough to explain his way out of the situation without admitting he could use magic, but it was unnecessary. This way was much simpler. The only problem was his guilt over the lies.

'_As you should feel, little one_,_'_ Saphira chided.

'_Saphira? Nice of you to drop by.' _

'_I apologise for not asking your permission beforehand, but your defences were lowered, and I had to show you what could happen if I had been an enemy.'_

'_And what's that?' _

'_That it is very simple to gain access to your mind. If I had wanted to, I could have destroyed you. You should take better care of your mind.' _

'_I know, I know,' _Harry sighed_. 'I'm just a little distracted.' _

Saphira snorted. _'I can understand why. All the lies you humans plant must be exhausting when they sprout.' _

'_You enjoy speaking in riddles, don't you?' _

'_It calms me. Besides, such is the way of a daughter of the sky.' _

'_Or a son.' _

'_You get my meaning.'_

* * *

As soon as Eragon was lying comfortably in Gertrude's healing hut, Harry raced home and packed up everything he would possibly need for what could potentially be quite a long journey, including extra clothes, money, various pieces of cutlery, herbs and spices, as well as the sporadic healing materials he owned, such as bandages and the townspeople's version of morphine – a type of medicine that tasted rather disgusting, yet which proved to be quite effective. It wasn't nearly as strong as morphine, however. It much more closely resembled paracetamol.

After loading everything into the pack he had purchased in town, he sat down and wrote a letter, addressed to Roran. It read:

**Roran, **

**If you are reading this, then Garrow has passed on, and both Eragon and I have disappeared. Firstly, allow me to offer my sincere condolences – I know what it's like to lose both friends and family. It's never easy. I'm sorry that this had to happen to you of all people. You're a good person, and no one deserves anything like this, especially not a good person. Although I'm a little confused on the details myself at the moment, I do know that you need to be careful. No doubt you will hear of two mysterious strangers in Carvahall recently. The truth is they are the ones that destroyed your livelihood and tore your family apart. I'm very sorry that I wasn't able to save your farm, but I was more intent on saving Garrow's life. Needless to say, my attempt ultimately failed, and the strangers WILL return, searching for whatever they've been ordered to find. It's best if you don't know all the details of that matter for your own safety, but suffice it to say you need to be on your guard. Don't trust anyone but close friends and family, and be careful even there; anyone could be deceptive.**

**Eragon and I have left Carvahall, possibly forever. It's safer for everyone if we do so, as the Ra'zac (that's what the strangers are called) will hopefully pursue us, rather than focusing on the townspeople. If they do not do that… then they're smarter than I gave them credit for, and chances are you'll have to defend yourselves. If that comes to pass, then do NOT underestimate them. They're not human, and are stronger than most people. Also, I fear they may be working for Galbatorix, and despite knowing little about your land, I know that wouldn't be a good thing. If the king is as powerful as people say he is, then he may come for you personally. If it ever seems like that is about to happen, I suggest you run far away and hide yourself. **

**I'm sorry you don't have anymore options (I would offer you the chance to come with us, but I doubt you would do so, and you are not here, in any case), but that's just the way things have turned out. With any fortune, the Ra'zac will never again venture near Carvahall, but I doubt that will be the case. No matter what happens, I wish you the best of luck. Once more, I am sorry for your loss.**

**P.S – since I no longer have any need for it, you have my permission to use my home as your own if you return. You may consider it yours.**

**Harry**

Harry sat the letter down and read over it. It seemed sufficient for what he wished to achieve. He had no desire to have Roran come to blows with Sloan; not when Roran needed to lie low, although he had hinted at it ("anyone could be deceptive"). Besides, Harry intended to sort that problem out before he left. He knew he had no choice _not_ to mention Saphira to Roran, as it would be incredibly dangerous if the letter fell into the wrong hands, not to mention that it wasn't Harry's secret to give away, but Eragon's. Carefully, he stowed the letter inside his shirt and pushed his chair back from the table.

Leaving Roran the house wasn't risky – Harry had built the room for Saphira so that no muggle eyes could see the magic embedded in its foundations. If Roran ventured in there, it would appear to be naught but an ordinary den, albeit with some strange objects – such as the mattress lying in the centre of the floor. He hoped Roran would think it was simply a room for lying back and staring at the night-sky. Eragon had told him many people in Carvahall found the stars fascinating.

With one last sweeping look at his new home, Harry ventured outside, shutting the door behind him. Sadly, he wondered how many more homes he would have to abandon prematurely before his time was finished.

* * *

Brom sat on a rocking chair outside his small home, smoking a pipe whilst considering recent events. That mark on Eragon's hand had been the gedwëy ignasia, he was sure of it. But if that was the case, then Arya or one of the other couriers must have been ambushed and in a last-bid attempt to save the egg, had attempted to transport it to Brom. Of course, the attempt had clearly not succeeded, which was not surprising. Transporting anything via magic was a risky business, given that it both required an awful lot of energy and was an imprecise method of transportation. Anything could have gone wrong.

But still, for _Eragon_ to have found the egg… Eragon. Out of all people, how could that have been possible? And for it to have hatched for him… Brom shook his head, annoyed at his own lack of vision. He should have made the connection sooner than this. He knew the Ra'zac or some other servant of the foul king would come looking for the egg, so why hadn't he warned the boy? Truthfully, it was because he was too overcome with emotion – he had forgotten that they would be looking for it in the rush of his euphoria. After three months, that feeling still hadn't gone away. For his own son to take up the mantle of the Riders… it was too much to think about.

He extinguished the pipe and stood up suddenly. The other mysterious boy – the one with the strange glass rings in front of his eyes – had just entered the town, carrying a full-looking pack of what Brom supposed were supplies. He knew immediately what the boy was planning, and would be damned if he would let them go alone.

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Brom approaching from a distance. Carefully, he went to remove his wand, but then thought better of it. The old storyteller was certainly odd, but Harry doubted he was a threat. Instead, he concealed it up the sleeve of his shirt.

_In any case, he might only be coming over here to exchange pleasantries._

Fat chance.

He came right up to Harry and leaned in beside him, murmuring in a very low voice: 'I hope you have enough meat there for Eragon's dragon.'

Alarm bells rang in Harry's head and instinctively, he pointed his wand at the old man's abdomen, still keeping it concealed in his shirt. Brom merely chuckled at the action.

'If you're going to point a stick at someone, why not make it a _real_ stick?' Harry was firmly reminded of Aunt Marge.

In a sudden whirlwind of motion, Brom withdrew a dagger that had gone unnoticed by the young wizard, and brought it up to his throat. Harry gulped. This was just getting out of hand, now. Harry shifted his eyes in their sockets. The street was empty, save for the two of them.

Instead of showing fear, Harry decided to remain composed. It wasn't the first time he had come face to face with possible death. One might even say he was used to it by now.

'_Real_ stick?' he asked sarcastically. 'Old man, you know nothing of which you speak.' Harry inwardly cringed at his own dialect – three months in Carvahall, and the way the townspeople spoke was beginning to rub-off on him.

'Correction: I know a great deal more than you ever could, boy. For starters, I know that you are a magician.'

Harry opened his mouth to deny that accusation, but knew that it would be a feeble and pointless attempt. Brom obviously knew the truth somehow. No one could make a random guess that was so accurate. Instead, he rearranged the words into something more defiant: 'where I come from, we call them "wizards".'

'Wizards, magicians, spell casters, magic weavers… they're all the same thing,' Brom dismissed calmly. He didn't seem the least bit threatened by Harry's demeanour. Despite the circumstances, Harry felt his old respect for Brom returning swiftly.

'And how could you possibly know who or what I am, anyway?'

'I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but magicians have the ability to look into the minds' of others. I detected your presence some time ago.'

Harry felt like kicking himself. 'How did you know it was me?'

'No two minds are alike, just like no two voices are similar to each other. I've been here long enough to know the mind of every villager off-by-heart.'

'You have some skill, old man.'

'Drop the tough act, boy,' Brom ordered, lowering his dagger. 'I'm not here to harm you, or your friend. On the contrary, I wish to help. Greatly.'

Suspiciously, Harry lowered his wand, but didn't put it away. 'Why?' he asked determinably.

'Let's just say that I despise both the king and his tyrannical empire, and as far as I see it, Eragon is the best chance of ending both of those things once and for all.'

'Because he's a Rider?'

'Precisely,' Brom nodded. 'I daresay you would make a valuable contribution, as well. Your magical prowess is one of the strongest I've encountered in a long time, judging by the scope of your mind.'

'Why should I accept your help? You could be a spy, for all I know.'

'And the same to you,' Brom nodded. 'I'm glad you're using common sense. You'll have a better chance if you are wary of strangers. In the end, however, it all comes down to trust. Despite your impressive magical strength, your opened mind is very young, and I can teach you how to develop it, as I will teach Eragon if you allow me to accompany the two of you.'

'Are you trying to bribe me?' Harry asked humorously. Despite his uncertainties, he trusted Brom as it was. He could always tell when it was safe to trust someone or not, and this was a case of the former. Brom couldn't be a spy – of that he was certain. The story he had told was far too _real_ and filled with emotion to be untrue, or an act. Still, Harry wanted to solidify that trust beforehand. He reached for Brom's mind, slowly. To his surprise, the old man did nothing to prevent the action; rather, he let Harry feel his emotions without attempting to defend himself. Harry detected nothing but a genuine desire to help. There was no trickery involved.

Finally, he stowed away his wand. 'Very well. If you help me get Eragon out of Carvahall safely, you may accompany us. I should say, however, that he may feel differently.'

'He won't,' Brom said simply. Silently, he gestured for Harry to follow him down the street. Harry obliged.

'How can you be sure?'

'Because if I can prove to his dragon-'

'Saphira,' Harry interrupted. He needed to make sure that interrupting people didn't become an ugly habit in the future.

'Saphira,' Brom wondered. 'It's a good name.'

'Aye, it is,' Harry agreed.

Brom shook his head in order to clear his mind. 'If I can get Saphira to trust me, Eragon will follow in her footsteps.'

'I would help you with that matter, but I feel it would be more prudent if you did so by yourself. The last thing you want is for anyone – especially Saphira – to suspect deception.'

'Leave it to me. Now, what did you have in mind?' Brom queried.

Harry shrugged. 'It's simple: run like the Dickens.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Oh, I'm sorry; it's an expression from my homeland. I meant: run like hell. Do you people believe in a hell?'

* * *

Garrow was dead.

It had been two days since Harry had found Eragon, and he was growing worried. Eragon was not responding to Harry's attempts to contact him, and despite Gertrude casually telling him that Eragon had a high fever and was asleep most of the time, Harry was convinced Eragon was ignoring him. Garrow's death had quite clearly hit him. _Hard._ And he was unwilling to accept help from any other source. Harry hoped that Saphira was having better luck getting through to him.

As it was, there was nothing he could do about it. Instead, he worked on formulating a plan with Brom's valuable help. The old man seemed to know the entire land like the back of his hand. He never needed to consult a map when brainstorming ideas, although Harry did. It took him a day, but he eventually got the gist of the layout of Alagaësia, and was soon able to name the main cities, namely: Gil'ead, Feinster, Belatona, Dras-Leona and Aberon, which was Surda's capital. As well as those five, he also learned the location of Galbatorix's fortress: Urû'baen. It didn't take long, as he only needed his memory to be refreshed from three months earlier.

'He's probably distressed,' Brom shrugged one evening, when Harry voiced his concerns.

'I know... alas, I fear for him. Who knows what he may do now?'

'We can only hope that his judgement is good, unlike yours.'

'What does that mean?'

Brom scoffed with sarcasm. 'You were practically _running _into Carvahall with a full pack of travelling supplies. If someone else had seen you, they would have grown very suspicious. Just what where you thinking?'

'That I was going to prepare for leaving as soon as possible. I wanted to hide the supplies somewhere, so we could leave without having to go back for them.'

'Hmm… still, it was a risky move.'

'Better to ask forgiveness than permission.'

'An expression that I feel is worthy of the Gods,' Brom noted admirably. Harry suddenly felt a buzzing noise in his mind, and recognised Saphira's touch. He lowered the new, improved defences Brom had swiftly taught him how to form.

'_I trust you have good news?' _Harry greeted_. _

'_Yes – I have informed Eragon of your plan. He understands that Brom will collect him under the guise of Roran making a surprise "visit", and is willing to pursue the Ra'zac with Brom's help. However, he is still consumed by grief and refuses to open his mind fully.' _

'_I understand that perfectly.' There was a slight pause. 'How are you feeling?' _Harry asked her.

'_I am… better than he is. I did not know Garrow personally, but Eragon's emotions are attempting to overwhelm me. I feel sadness.' _

'_As do I,' _Harry admitted truthfully._ 'Fear not, we will soon be gone.'_

* * *

Harry awoke with a start. His pleasant dreams were rudely interrupted, as Brom almost broke the door to his spare room down, panic etched across his face.

'We have to go, now!' he commanded urgently. Furiously, he rushed out of the room and gathered his own personal supplies.

Harry bolted upright and threw his glasses on. He had no need to get dressed as he was already fully clothed, in case of an emergency. As it turned out, this was definitely an emergency.

'What's the matter?' Harry shouted quickly, grabbing his backpack. 'What time is it?'

'Twilight. We must go. Come on!'

Finally, Harry was ready. He rushed to the small kitchen, where Eragon was standing. Harry was surprised.

'I thought Brom was going to get you later tonight?'

Eragon shook his head. 'There has been a troublesome development.' Eragon really didn't look good – there were bags under his eyes from sleep deprivation, his hair was almost as messy as Harry's and he was wearing a very haunted expression. Harry compared him inwardly to Dumbledore on the tower, just before Snape killed him.

'What?'

'They're searching for you.'

'Who, me?' Harry half-shouted urgently. 'Why?'

'They think you helped the strangers plot setting fire to the farm. If they catch you… it won't be good.'

'How can they think that? I've lived amongst them for three months!'

'And that's the problem – they think you're a servant of the king, with all of your oddities and ability to avoid their questions.'

'Oh, crap,' Harry said silently. 'How bad are we talking?'

Eragon hesitated. 'In Carvahall, the mishandling of fire is a hanging offence.'

'What!'

'That won't happen,' Brom said gruffly. Irritably, he shoved Harry out of the way and threw the door open. He pushed Eragon outside and motioned for Harry to move quickly.

Lowly, they crept to the edge of town, trying not to gain any attention. They weren't spotted, but as it transpired, they didn't need to be. There was a wagon blocking their route out of town, as well as twenty or so townspeople. They were also armed, carrying pitchforks and shovels.

'Bastards,' Brom said angrily. He hadn't been expecting this.

'Why do they have to be so violent?' Harry muttered, slumping against the wall of the house they were hiding behind.

'They're very strict about their laws, and think you're working for the empire. That's two different reasons,' Brom informed him.

'Thanks for your flippancy, old man.'

'Shh!' Eragon whispered furiously.

Luckily, no one had heard them.

Harry sighed. What would Sirius have done? Both of them had been Gryffindors, and bravery set Gryffindors apart. This was exactly the same situation as when he had dove into the lake for the sword, only it may involve violence. It was time to act.

'Leave this to me,' Harry said confidently, although he didn't feel confident. Ignoring both of their protests, he stood up and walked into the centre of the street, where the townspeople could see him clearly.

_I hope they're afraid of magic, _Harry realised.

'Halt!' One of them shouted. Harry recognised him as Gedric, the man who owned the tanning vats Brom had stolen the leather from yesterday.

Harry grinned, even though they couldn't see him do so. It helped to calm him down.

'All I want is to leave!' he shouted back. 'Let me pass, and there won't be any trouble between us!'

'You made trouble when you came to Carvahall!' Quimby replied angrily. 'You will face trial for your actions! We won't move!'

'So be it,' Harry whispered. He whipped out his wand in an instant, conjuring up a memory of the last time he had seen Ginny.

'_Expecto Patronum!' _

The silver stag erupted from the end of his wand like a burst of dazzling white light. Rearing its head, it charged at the group, running through the air like a silent spectre. Having no knowledge of magic, the townspeople had no idea it couldn't harm them, and scattered into town, screaming like men possessed by demons.

Harry allowed the stag to dissipate in mid-air. 'Come on!' he shouted. Brom and Eragon were there in an instant. Eragon looked awed at the recent spectacle, and Brom slightly impressed.

'Not bad, boy. Not bad at all.'


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six – Lessons In Sword-fighting**

Moving faster than he had ever done before, Eragon followed Brom's lead. He was taking them southwest, away from Carvahall with great haste. The original plan was for Eragon to lead them into the clearing where he had found both Saphira's egg and Harry in The Spine, but that was no longer an option. They were, in all likeliness, now running from the townspeople of Carvahall. They couldn't afford to stop unnecessarily. In light of recent developments, Brom drove them through the night and well into the new day, heading directly for Therinsford. Eragon could only hope that the villagers would be hesitant to follow, due to Harry's display of power.

Saphira had caught up with them fairly quickly, and was now circling overhead. Eragon walked alongside Harry, who seemed worried about what had transpired.

'You couldn't have known that would happen,' Eragon told him. 'None of us did.'

Harry grunted. 'Still, I used magic. In my own land, that's breaking a ridiculous amount of laws.'

'You used it in front of me. Remember?'

'I suppose… but it still shouldn't have been necessary. It's all water under the bridge, anyway.'

'Then why do you look so vexed?'

Harry sighed and folded his arms for warmth. Snow lay in great depth on the ground, as well as in the trees to the north and west. Harry was now wearing a long, brown travelling cloak as well as his regular assortment of clothes, but it was still very cold. The trail in front of them was virtually invisible, which led Harry to doubt the direction they were heading in altogether. Brom obviously knew the route exceptionally well.

'Because if anything, it's proved that I can't go home. Back there, if you used magic in front of people, upholders of the law would arrive and take you into custody. Since that isn't happening to me, I can safely assume my people either can't get to me, or that they have no idea where I am. I guess I was hoping for confirmation after the first time, and now I have it.'

Silently, they walked on. Eragon didn't say anything to comfort his friend. He was still recovering from Garrow's death, and had no idea what to say in any case. Luckily, Brom could both see and hear like a hawk.

'If I was you, I wouldn't worry so much,' he called back. 'This is a good place, for the most part. Would it really be so bad if you were stuck here for the rest of your life?'

'I honestly can't answer that,' Harry replied. 'I'm divided on the issue. On one hand, I'm free to live without interference from people looking to shake my hand, and there are no restrictions on my magic, but on the other, I won't ever see the people I love again.'

Brom harrumphed. 'Why would people want to shake your hand?' the old man asked, removing his pipe. He stopped to light it, allowing his two companions to catch up to him.

'I'm famous for defeating the greatest dark wizard of all time, if you must know.'

'Is that a true story, or a ploy to gain the attention of a woman?'

'My stories are as true as yours, old man,' Harry flushed.

Eragon grinned, shaking his head.

'What?' Brom asked him.

'You two.'

'What about us?'

'Constantly at each other's throats. I don't want to listen to it up until the Ra'zac are dead.'

Brom chuckled. 'Trust me boy, I think you'll hear it up until the very end of this tale.'

'What are you talking about?' Eragon asked confusedly. 'That _will_ be the end of this tale, won't it?'

'No, it won't,' Brom said softly.

'Why not? That's my ultimate task: to avenge my uncle.'

'It is for now, but that's likely to change.'

'Why?'

Brom didn't answer for a moment, instead smoking the pipe that he loved so much. Harry tried to ignore the repugnant smell. They walked on, trying to pick up even more speed. At their current rate, Eragon realised, they would reach Therinsford by tomorrow evening.

'The reason is a complicated one, if nothing else.'

'Try me,' Harry challenged. He wanted to hear the explanation as much as Eragon, although he already knew parts of it.

'Very well. As both of you know, Alagaësia is under the control of a mad, evil tyrant. Galbatorix. What you may not know, Harry, is that over time, the more isolated towns and villages in the land have become increasingly less important to the king. He abandons them, leaves them to rot in starvation and deprivation. None stand before him and live. He is becoming more and more hated as time goes on.

'Since his rule began, however, a group of freedom fighters known as "the Varden" have attempted to disrupt his control over the people however possible.'

Harry nodded. 'Eragon mentioned them before.'

'Right, but what he may _not_ have mentioned is that the power struggle in the land is currently balanced. With the Urgals growing in numbers, the Empire is forced to spread its army throughout the land. Because of that, The Varden are in a very strong position if they were to attack the king. While it may not be enough to defeat him singlehandedly, there is one thing that could tip the scales in their favour.'

'What?' Eragon asked.

Brom hesitated, then shook his head. 'I'm sorry, but I've said too much. I won't continue. It was a slip of the mind on my part.'

Eragon protested, but Brom overruled him.

'It's not because I don't trust either of you, but rather because neither of you are prepared for the information,' Brom told them sharply.

'When will we be ready?' Harry asked.

Brom shrugged in response. 'That's up to me to decide. In the meantime, I think we should press onwards.'

'_He's hiding something important from us,' _Harry said.

'_I know, _Eragon replied, _'but what can we do about it? He won't tell us anytime soon.' _

'_He might tell Saphira.' _

'_He won't,'_ Saphira cut-in sharply. _'I doubt I would have any more success than the two of you.' _

'_You won't know until you try_,' Harry said.

Saphira snorted. _'I already have_,' she admitted.

'_And he didn't tell you?' _Harry asked incredulously. _'You could always threaten to tear him apart_,' he said jokingly.

'_He'd probably tear _you_ apart just for suggesting it_,' Eragon said.

'_He couldn't beat me to save his life_,' Harry scoffed.

Saphira chuckled.

'_What?' _

'_We shall see_,' she said simply.

To break the silence, Eragon decided to question Brom a little further. 'So what exactly do you know of dragons? You seem to hoard knowledge of them in your mind.'

Brom laughed in response. 'The knowledge that I "hoard" is a pitiful amount compared to what I would like to know, and that is probably how it will always remain. Dragons are very mysterious. Our understanding of them is very rudimentary. Before I can truly answer your question, you need a basic education on the subject.'

Harry listened in on the conversation, hearing Brom describe in concise detail the lifestyles of dragons, including feeding patterns, how they bred together (which he really didn't need to hear), and growth. One particularly interesting topic was the subject of dragon eggs. As they talked, they continued onwards, following the Ra'zac's footprints. The tracks continued south, following a game trail. Clearly, the brutes felt it wise to stay clear of the road, not that it had helped them.

'Unless it is one of a wild nature, a dragon will not hatch unless it feels the presence of the one destined to be its Rider,' Brom explained. 'Of course, that all started after their alliance with the elves was formed.'

'Do you mean that Saphira might not have hatched for me?' Eragon asked.

'Quite possibly, had she not liked you,' Brom said so succinctly and sincerely, that Harry almost laughed.

Brom momentarily halted his lecture, telling the two of them to stop for a break. Sighing in relief, the pair sat down against the trunk of an old oak tree, watching as Brom unstrapped a large cloth across his back. Slowly, he sat it down in front of them and unrolled it. Inside were two swords, along with their respective scabbards. Harry knew very little about swords, but even he thought they looked extraordinary.

One was a mighty-looking broadsword, around thirty five inches in length (Harry wasn't certain) and sporting a blade of around three inches in width. Just by looking, Harry could tell that the blade was made of a fine steel material, and was of very high quality. The blade itself was flat and straight, until it reached a few inches before the point. From there, it drew backwards slightly, keeping one edge straight and the other rounded. It looked incredibly sharp. The blade shone so brightly that Harry had to glint his eyes when looking at it. The hilt was made of a darker material; it was black, darker than coal, with the imposing, rounded pommel being particularly eye-catching.

'Now that's impressive,' Harry said in admiration.

'Yes, it is,' Brom agreed. He slid it into the scabbard – one made out of wood (ash, Harry thought it was), with the colour matching that of the hilt. The intricately shaped patterns carved into the scabbard amazed both Harry and Eragon. They took the form of doubled-up lines running around both sides of the scabbard numerous times, whilst in the middle there was a set of mysterious white runes, runes that Harry doubted even Hermione would have understood.

Brom held the sword out for Harry to take. 'It's yours,' he said.

Harry was speechless. Overcome with emotion that anyone could give him something so precious. Wordlessly, he accepted the sword from Brom and weighed it in his hands. The weight felt perfect. He looked up at Brom.

'Thank you. I don't know how I could ever repay such a gift.'

Brom laughed. 'You can repay me by not accidentally gutting yourself with it,' he smiled, as Harry pulled out the blade. Standing on his feet, he examined it, twisting and turning it in the sunlight, not really sure what he was looking for. He really just wanted to take it all in.

'That won't be a problem – I don't even know how to use a sword,' Harry admitted.

'That will change very soon,' Brom declared. He reached for the second sword.

Unlike the broadsword, this one had a dark, wine-red coloured sheath and a gleaming silver hilt. The hilt appeared to shine like the rippling water of an ocean beneath starlight, and had a ruby the size of a small egg centred in the gold pommel. Harry noticed that the sheath of this sword also had a mysterious symbol etched into it, and felt his curiosity grow once more. The crimson blade appeared deadly, yet beautiful in a terrible way. Brom threw a leather belt and buckle to both Harry and Eragon.

'That sword is called Zar'roc,' he told Eragon. 'Normally, when a Rider finished training, the elves would present him with one of their very own swords. They are faster, stronger and more durable than all others, as their methods of forging have always remained secret. They are eternally sharp and never stain. Although it is customary for the Rider's blade to match the colour of his dragon, I think we can make an exception in this case. I don't exactly have a whole rack full of those weapons, you know.'

'Is that what the black symbol inscribed on the blade means?' Harry asked, pointing at it. "Zar'roc?"'

Brom nodded. 'Your own blade is named Aiedail, which is the morning star. It was named thus after the forger compared its shining properties to those of the star's light.'

'I can see why,' Harry said, holding it out. The Sun cleared a large cloud in the sky, and began to shine its rays down upon them. When the first of them reached the blade, Brom was forced to cover his eyes.

'Alright, alright! Put it away, please!'

Feeling giddy inside, Harry sheathed the blade and strapped it to the belt Brom had given him. He tied it tightly around his waist, trying to get used to the extra weight.

'Is this also a Rider's blade?' he asked Brom.

Brom shook his head. 'No. It is the sword of an old friend of mine, who died long ago. I was afraid I would have to leave it behind, but you have saved me from that worry.' Brom dipped his head in acknowledgement.

'You're welcome,' Harry replied. 'And as I said earlier, I thank you for this incredible gift.'

'Don't thank me until we can be sure you know how to use it properly.'

* * *

After walking for a couple of hours, Brom decided that enough was enough for one day. They found a comfortable spot on the grass and set up camp, with both Harry and Eragon very impatient for the fire to be lit. Soon it was roaring in front of them, both warming and comforting. Saphira joined the trio just as food was being cooked.

'_Did you have time to hunt?'_ Eragon asked.

'_If the three of you were any slower, I would have time to fly across the sea and back without falling behind_,' she snorted.

'_Don't be insulting_,' Eragon chided. _'We'll go faster once we have horses.' _

Harry didn't join in on their mute conversation. Instead, he lay back and gazed at the stars, wondering if Aiedail was visible. He didn't have long to ponder, however, as Brom picked up two of the three sticks he was whittling into the shape of crude swords, and threw one to both Harry and Eragon.

'Defend yourself!' he barked.

Harry and Eragon looked at each other, wondering if the old man was serious. Surely he didn't think he could take both of them on at once? Harry decided to make it a little more fair, but Brom was a stubborn man.

'Who's going first?'

'You're both going first! Now, defend yourself, before I feel like getting in a few cheap shots!'

Harry shrugged at Eragon and rose to his feet, holding the branch in front of him in a defensive stance. Eragon stood on his left side. Brom circled the fire and stood before them.

'Be warned: a real enemy wouldn't soften his blows, and neither will I.'

Then he charged.

His first swing was aimed at Eragon's shoulder, and it easily found its mark. From there, Brom continued to reign down a successive combination of shots and thrusts, none of which Eragon could block. He yelped with pain as Brom struck him across the ribs. Harry stood there, watching and waiting. Brom looked around at him.

'What are you doing, being courteous? You should be taking advantage of any opening you see!'

And he began to attack Harry, the branch whistling through the air. Harry couldn't believe the old man's speed – nothing he did was able to fend off any of the blows. He gasped as Brom twirled around behind him and cracked him between the shoulder blades. The old man didn't give him time to recover, either. Instead, he twirled the stick around with one hand and hit him sharply across the face. The force of the blow knocked Harry to the ground.

'Damn it, that hurt!' Harry half-shouted, massaging his face. He winced as it seared with pain when he attempted to feel it.

_Yep, that's gonna bruise… _

Growling, he began to take the offensive, swinging the makeshift weapon around without any real understanding of what he was doing. Brom merely smiled and deflected every one of the blows with incredible ease. After a minute or so, Harry tried something new. He feinted swinging right, but at the last moment twisted the stick in the opposite direction. It actually managed to knock Brom's stick off-balance, and he followed up with an overhead swing. Brom dodged the swing, however, and hit Harry in the small of his back.

Harry ducked a further blow and backed away, massaging his buttocks. 'Was that _really_ necessary?' he demanded, standing beside Eragon. Brom nodded in reply, grinning widely.

Both friends looked at each other and nodded. 'Let's do this,' Eragon said.

Then they attacked simultaneously, Eragon on the right and Harry on the left. Their efforts were futile, as it soon turned out. Brom was much too fast for even both of them together, and they were unable to hit him even once. He parried left and right so quickly it seemed like he was using two sticks. The one thing they _did_ cause him to do was redouble his strikes, which became even more punishing than normal. By the end of the session, both Harry and Eragon were hurting all over. Eragon was nursing a small cut on his arm and Harry was unable to sit down properly.

Brom stood over them, twirling his own, wooden sword between his hands.

'Get up, both of you. We aren't finished yet.'

'Are you serious?' Eragon asked, exasperated. 'If you hit me again, I might pass out.'

'You need to learn discipline!' Brom cried, jabbing Eragon in the stomach. Eragon grimaced and quickly jumped to his feet. Harry followed, due to the look Brom was giving him:

"'On your feet, or I'll hit you next'", was what it said.

'Okay, now pay attention. I'm not just going to hammer the two of you,' he said, as they both flinched when he moved the stick quickly. Brom then proceeded to explain to them a wide variety of fighting stances and moves, not all of which involved swinging a sword.

'That's just fighting dirty,' Harry exclaimed, as Brom mimicked kneeing an imaginary opponent in the groin.

Brom drew himself upright and walked over to the fire. 'You'll think differently when someone goes to decapitate you,' he warned.

'No, I'll just stun him,' Harry retorted. 'Actually, I don't know why I'm getting so worked up about all this – I don't kill people.'

'When it comes down to it, you might have to,' Brom said gravely. Harry grunted in reply. 'Besides, you can't stun someone if he decapitates you, magic or no magic.'

'Yeah, but he can't decapitate me if I stun him first. Are you beginning to see the paradox forming here?' Harry asked condescendingly.

Brom glared at him. 'Even if you don't want to kill, blocking could still be useful,' he said through gritted teeth.

'I know that, and I'm prepared for it.'

'Oh, really?' Brom asked sarcastically. With a lightning-fast movement, he brought the stick to head-height and hit Harry across the jaw… again.

'You didn't block that, did you?'

* * *

The next morning, Harry awoke to find a very large assortment of bruises covering his entire body. He felt stiff and sore all over.

'Well, that's to be expected,' Eragon winced, feeling the exact same way. Brom grinned over at the pair of them and returned to his breakfast, which admittedly wasn't much. Harry, who was prepared for this, ate the bowl of mush without complaint. As he cleaned the bowl afterwards, something caught his eye. It was a saddle, lying next to Eragon's pack.

'Who made that?' he asked, pointing towards it.

'We did,' Brom replied, 'after you fell asleep.'

'You mean after you knocked me out,' Harry retorted.

Brom shrugged. 'How's that feeling?'

'My head feels like it's going to explode.'

'Tough luck – you'll have to get used to the feeling, unless you can improve your technique.'

Harry ignored him. 'What's the saddle for?' he asked Eragon.

'Saphira,' he replied simply.

'Fancy,' Harry muttered, examining the saddle. 'Is this what you stole the leather for?' he asked Brom over his shoulder.

Brom nodded, before standing up abruptly. He extinguished his pipe. 'Well, I think we'd best get moving. I want to reach Therinsford by noon, at the very latest.'

Following his lead once more, Harry and Eragon took to the road, travelling swiftly. The journey to the town wouldn't be as arduous as yesterday's, clearly. After only a league, the road widened and smoke became visible in the distance.

'Tell Saphira to fly ahead and wait for us on the other side of Therinsford,' Brom told Eragon quickly. 'She has to be careful here, otherwise people are bound to notice her.'

Eragon relayed the message, and the three of them carried onwards. Eventually, the ruts in the road began to deepen, which Harry took to understand there was an increase in merchant activity around the area. Footprints accompanied them, and farms began to appear on both sides, signalling their approach to the village. As it came into view, Harry took a good look around. The houses were mismatched all across the village, and had been constructed haphazardly. There was a plume of smoke rising from many of the houses.

'What a mess,' Eragon exclaimed.

'It's ugly, if nothing else,' Brom agreed.

'I have no wish to face Roran, but I wonder if Dempton's mill is visible from here? I never got the chance to explain things properly to him before leaving,' Eragon said.

'Don't worry; Brom and I left a couple of letters for him,' Harry explained. 'They explain things fairly well, although we didn't mention Saphira.'

The Anora River flowed between the trio and the town, with the only accessible route into town being a stout bridge. As they stepped towards it, a short, greasy man stepped from behind a bush, blocking their way across. His shirt was too short, and his teeth looked like crumbling tombstones. He had a thick, pudgy face and was accompanied by a stomach-turning stench.

'You c'n stop right there. This's my bridge. Gotta pay t' get over,' he said.

'How much?' Brom asked, taking out a money pouch.

'Five crowns,' he replied, smiling broadly. Eragon's temper flared, but Brom silenced him with a quick look. Wordlessly, he handed over the coins. The man placed them into a sack hanging from his belt and stepped out of the way, bowing in a mocking fashion.

'Thank'ee much,' he said.

Brom went to step across first, but "accidentally" stumbled and caught the bridge-keeper's arm to support himself. Harry smiled to himself as he saw a flash of gold – Brom had cut the man's purse.

'Watch y're step,' the grimy man snarled, sidling away.

'Sorry about that,' Brom apologised. He continued over the bridge with Eragon. Harry put on a defiant expression as he passed the bridge-keeper, wiping the smile off his face to give nothing away.

'You should spend that on some new teeth, you slimy git,' Harry muttered, before following his two companions. 'Nice work,' he said lowly, once the three of them were safely across the bridge.

'What are you talking about?' Brom asked him.

'You cut his purse,' Harry declared, grinning broadly. Brom returned the gesture.

'You have a good eye, boy.'

Eragon looked around at the bridge, where they could no longer see the man. 'I suggest we leave quickly, in that case.'

Brom nodded. 'Quite. Let me know if you see any watchmen.'

Half an hour later, the three of them left Therinsford, each one riding a horse. Brom was mounted on a white stallion known as Snowfire, which had cost him two hundred crowns. Eragon was mounted on a bay, whilst Harry was riding a roan. As with swords, Harry was no expert on horses, but he thought they looked like fine animals. Awkwardly, he mounted the horse. Brom gave the two of them a few pointers, and they set off. Harry grimaced with pain as the horse moved forward without consideration for his own inconveniences.

'How much is this going to hurt me?' he asked himself.

'Quit your whining and let's get going,' Brom ordered. 'It's a long journey to Yazuac, and I don't want to hear you complaining the whole way.'

'It was _one, simple_ question!' Harry exclaimed. 'I'm just worried about the bruise right above my ass!'

Eragon chuckled. 'This ought to be a fun journey,' he said with sarcasm.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven – Blood-splattered Little Angel**

Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted loudly, disturbing the peace and tranquillity of the night air. The sound startled the young man greatly. He looked left and right, his eyes searching the low rooftops for any unusual movement. A moving shadow caught his attention. Without hesitation, he drew his sword and immediately dropped to the ground, hiding behind a row of shipping containers. They were full of wine bottles for the king's high court, but he was damned if this wasn't a better use of their large bulk. Finding a gap between two of the containers, he slowly pushed them apart using the palm of his hand – not much, just enough to see through.

Onto the street in front of him walked four armed soldiers, their faces hidden by darkness. The street was little more than a wide alleyway, with low-lying houses for soldiers off-duty on either side, and was used as a holding place for supplies until they could be transported to Gil'ead along the Ramr River. By all extents, the river wasn't wide enough or deep enough for any large transport vessels, but at the best of times when the weather was fair, several specially-crafted boats could easily sail downstream. Sailing upstream back to Urû'baen was quite a different matter. It normally required the use of a magician, unless the wind was virtually non-existent. Land transport wasn't necessarily an option, mainly because of Urgal scavenging parties and raids carried out by the Varden.

_All the fuss so a few nobles can grow fatter on the expense of the people_, he thought bitterly.

Silently, the group of soldiers separated into two groups of two and split up to either side of the street, their red armour clinking noisily. They obviously didn't care much for stealth, which was a big mistake, in his opinion. Fortunately, the king was asleep in his chamber this night, which made escape from the deadly fortress feasible, but still very difficult. At this point, it was either take the risk and go forward, or return to face the king's wrath. Neither option greatly appealed to him, but he knew he would never go back. Not to that man, or to that _place._ It was full of misery and despair, and he longed for freedom.

Nor were there any other routes to the small wharf beside the river. Not unless one fancied a walk around the fortress, and the eight thousand soldiers stationed there. The one good thing was that it was the dead of night, and two thirds of the garrison were sleeping, or drinking their way to an early grave. No, this road was the one practical way to reach the wharf, and these four soldiers stood between him and freedom.

_No stranger's life is more important than my own. I will live by that creed, or I will die for not living by it._

With the silence of an unholy spectre, Murtagh raised himself into a crouching position behind the containers, listening for the movement of the guards. He found that they were only a few metres away, heading in his direction.

_Now is the time to act,_ he thought, feeling his heart pounding against his chest. With one last great inhale, he jumped to his feet and lunged at the solider nearest to him across the container, burying his sword in the man's stomach. The guard gave a startled cry and fell to the ground as Murtagh withdrew the hand-and-a-half sword, and quickly brought it up to parry an attack from the second soldier. He caught the guard's sword between his own and the shipping container and rammed it downwards, where it stuck inside the wood. The foolish guard attempted to pull it free, which gave Murtagh all the opportunity he needed to slit his throat with the tip of his blade from afar.

By this time the other two soldiers had run across the street, and began to attack him furiously from two different angles. Murtagh grinned, relishing the new challenge. His lust for combat was marred only by the feeling that he had to kill in order to survive, and it could be no other way. One of the guards had a spear in lieu of a sword, which he was lunging at Murtagh with a feral snarl. One of his attacks came dangerously close to Murtagh's head, but it worked to his advantage. Grabbing the spear, he tried to tear it from the guard's grasp, but the soldier's grip was too strong.

Instead, the soldier stumbled forwards and was knocked off-balance. With a movement so fast it appeared to be naught but a reflex action, Murtagh swung his sword around and decapitated the man with a single forehand slice. His lifeless body dropped to Murtagh's feet, which caused the fourth guard to lose his morale. He dropped his sword and held up his hands in a gesture of fealty, but Murtagh could afford no mercy. He would alert the entire garrison if allowed to escape. Lunging forward, he pierced the soldier's heart with his blood-covered blade, adding another tally to the growing list of lives he had taken.

The man grunted and died impaled on Murtagh's sword. With a great ringing sound, he withdrew the sword and allowed the man to fall at his feet. Four soldiers were no match for his skills with the blade. Galbatorix knew that. He was going to have to do better if he wanted to catch Murtagh.

Whether alive or dead.

* * *

Once the trail they were following reached the plains south of Utgard, it split into three segments – one ran north, towards Ceunon, whilst one headed directly across the plains and the other south respectively. Brom eventually discovered the Ra'zac's tracks, heading towards a small town called Yazuac, which Harry remembered seeing on Gertrude's map.

'Yazuac is four days from here, due east,' Brom said. 'The Anora River is our only supply of water, as there is neither pool nor stream between us and our quarry, if Yazuac is where they remain.'

Eragon looked excited at the prospect of finally catching up with the Ra'zac, but Harry felt solemn. When they finally did meet them in combat, he would have to make a choice: kill or be killed. Could he do it? Was he strong enough? Or was the stronger man the one that showed his enemies mercy? Voldemort was powerful, but that didn't make him a "strong" person, per se. He was afraid of emotion and afraid of death, which made him human, as unbelievable as it may have seemed – yet, being human, he ignored emotion and other people, which made him weak.

Brom could obviously read Harry's mind; not literally, since he was shielding it, but he read Harry's look with exceptional prudence.

'I hope you're prepared to do what is necessary,' Brom told him, as they refilled the water-skins. It was a very unsettled day, with much wind and little or no sunshine. Despite this, Harry did not complain. He had already offered to place an _impervious _charm around the four of them and the horses, but Brom had refused, saying that they needed to "man up".

'I'll do what is necessary, only _if_ it is necessary,' Harry rebuked. Annoyed that the old man couldn't leave him to the peace and tranquillity of his own mind, he screwed the lid on his water-skin and hurried back over to Godric, his newly-named mount. He began to retie his pack to the horse's back, not really paying attention to what he was doing. He paid for it, however, when one of the straps got caught and he tried to yank it free, snapping the material in half. Sighing, he took out his wand at directed it towards the strap.

'_Reparo'._The pack quickly repaired itself; this time, he made sure to properly secure everything safely. He didn't notice Eragon walking over beside him.

'You shouldn't be so harsh,' Eragon said casually, miming Harry's actions with Cadoc. 'We all have to get along nicely if we're going to work together against the Ra'zac.'

'Yes, I know that,' Harry said abruptly, fastening Aiedail sideways underneath the backpack. He had new bruises from recent sparring contests, and they were doing nothing to help lighten his unusually dark mood.

'So don't do it, then,' Eragon said, as though it were obvious.

'It's not as simple as that.'

'Oh?'

Harry took his time to answer, first mounting Godric and making sure the reigns were still stable. He didn't look at Eragon. 'Over a year ago, I swore that I wouldn't kill people, because it's what our evil tyrant did.' Even as he said it, he had a vivid flashback of the night Mad-Eye had been killed:

"_I won't go blasting people out of the way just because they're there. That's Voldemort's job."_

'Should I just change my mind because I'm no longer in my own land?' Harry asked rhetorically. 'After all, people are still people. Who gives me the right to end their lives?'

Eragon mounted Cadoc and together, they trotted over to where Brom was saddling Snowfire. 'I don't disagree with your philosophy,' Eragon said, 'but think about this: it's necessary to protect innocent people in the long-run. If the fate of Alagaësia rests on whether or not I remove those who make it a terrible place, it's worth it. I'm not saying that you should become an executioner or anything, but many of the king's people _deserve _it.'

Harry had to remind himself that Eragon was still only fifteen, and he eighteen. So young, yet talking about whether death was a necessary evil to make the world a better place.

_For the greater good,_he thought with disgust. _It seems that slogan is destined to haunt me for the rest of my days._

Yet, as he thought it, he couldn't help wondering if it really would be such a bad thing – to end unnecessary suffering and torment. Soldiers did it in the modern world all the time and occasionally, it worked. He shook his head as they reached Brom.

_Firstly, I need to witness some of this suffering, if it exists. Only then can I make any decision._

'Are you both ready?' Brom asked. 'Good – it's quite a long way to Yazuac. Let's move out.'

* * *

_Come on, Tornac, where the blazes are you? _Murtagh thought urgently. Here he was, standing beside the gates, but his friend had not shown up. He wouldn't have deserted Murtagh, of that he was certain… but then, where was he? Murtagh had been waiting for nigh on ten minutes.

Deciding that he could wait no longer, else risk being captured, he dispatched both soldiers guarding the gates and turned a reel, so they swung outwards. Quickly, he stole a horse from the nearby stable and rode outside the walls, stopping only when he saw the trap Galbatorix had snared. Forty or so soldiers stood there impressively, looking at him with menace strewn across their well-trained faces. Tornac's body lay in a crumpled heap beside the soldiers. His head lay several metres away from there.

'Godsdammit…' Murtagh whispered, aghast.

The soldiers formed a perfect semicircle around the area of the gates, so there was no way he could force his way through a gap in their ranks. What's more, the alarms in the fortress began to sound. Distant, blaring horns let the entire garrison know of his escape. No doubt someone had heard the din in the street and had contacted the garrison commander. The soldiers knew that he couldn't escape any other way, so they didn't even bother to attack – they simply stood there, unmoving.

Despair and hopelessness threatened to engulf Murtagh, but then he seen Tornac once more, and anger began to form in their stead; a great tide of anger that swept over him like one of the great waves in the Alagaësian Sea that were known to capsize fishing boats and ships. With an almighty rush of daring and bravado, he lurched the horse forward, shouting incoherent obscenities at the soldiers – cursing them, cursing their king.

The horse would never make it through the soldiers, he knew. It was time for something unexpected – a move he had managed to execute only once in training before. As the horse galloped furiously, neighing as it did so, he stood up on its back, feeling like a complete madman, gripped by the pox. The soldiers couldn't quite believe what they were seeing, and he couldn't quite believe what he was doing. As the horse reached the soldiers, one of them took it down with a pike he was carrying. Before it fell to the ground, as it remained standing tall – taller than any of the soldiers, Murtagh rushed along its back and jumped through the air, landing behind the soldiers and ending his jump in a practiced roll along the ground.

He didn't stop there, either. He refused to relent, even for a moment. After rolling, he jumped to his feet and began to run towards the wharf as fast as his legs would allow him, leaving the astounded soldiers staring after him. They didn't even chase him. Perhaps they thought he would be impossible to catch, or perhaps they thought he deserved to escape after his daring escapade. Whatever the reason, he chose to ignore it as he stole one of the small boats from the wharf and began to sail downriver, leaving them in his wake.

* * *

'Gods above…' Eragon whispered, holding his bow tightly.

Harry stopped examining the town and looked forward, only to feel like throwing up. Having been warned not to expect a warm welcome in suspicious times, he definitely didn't expect this. They rode into the centre of Yazuac, only to discover the horrific fate that had befallen the townspeople. They were greeted by a mountain of bodies, the corpses forever froze in expressions of pain and terror. By the size of the pile, Harry guessed that the entire village lay before them. Men and women, old and young… none had been granted mercy. Above the rest lay a dead infant, no more than two years old – a spear rose from his impaled chest, used as a way to ferry the grotesque message the evil that had caused this massacre wanted to spread:

"_Fear us."_

The smell was nauseating, but Harry forced himself not to throw up. His body was in shock at the scene unfolding before them; it was "Magic is Might" all over again, only on a much worse scale. At least in that case, the muggles had been (apparently) resting peacefully. Here, however, there was no peace to be found. Only the death and despair of a way of life scourged from the face of the world… forever. No survivors…

Harry knew that he had to act quickly. He took out his wand and pointed it at a random point in the street.

'_Homenum revelio.'_

Nothing. The centre of town was now abandoned.

'I'd say these bodies are maybe… two, three days old?' Harry suggested, judging by the level of decomposition and the terrible smell.

Brom nodded in response.

'Who could have done this?' Eragon asked weakly.

Brom bowed his head. 'Those who love the pain and suffering of others. They wear the many faces and go by many…' Harry wasn't listening to him, and instinctively blocked out the sound of his voice without knowing it; something else had caught his attention. Alone, away from the mountain of bodies, lay the body of a small girl, around seven or eight years old, Harry guessed. Dismounting, he slowly walked over and stared into the blankness of her cold, pale face, wondering how anyone could do such a thing.

She was a sweet-looking little girl, wearing a homemade dress and holding a doll made of straw and wool. Her blood-soaked body had clearly been forgotten about. Her killers had moved on to the next innocent, leaving her to rot on the ground. Feeling tears begin to appear, he crouched down and shut her eyes, so she looked more peaceful. He bowed his head and shut his own as well.

'I swear to you,' he whispered, 'I'm going to find the people responsible for this… and I'm going to avenge you and your people.'

Opening his eyes once more, Harry stood up; gently taking the doll she had been holding with him. Somehow, miraculously, it remained free from blood. He would keep it as a testament to the people of Yazuac… and the little girl. He placed it in his backpack, away from everything else in a different compartment.

Suddenly, Brom cursed and ran for Snowfire urgently. 'Ride!' he hissed tightly. 'There are still Urgals here!'

Harry quickly mounted Godric and began to ride towards the edge of Yazuac, following Eragon. Brom was behind the two of them. He felt the wind rip around his hair, before a grotesquely-formed creature appeared from nowhere and blocked his pathway. He didn't have time to react, as the horse immediately turned to avoid the Urgal. However, that was obviously the Urgal's plan, as he ran forwards and shoved the horse with all his might, shoving it roughly into one of the wooden houses. Harry cried out as it stumbled over and he fell from its high back, landing awkwardly. In front of him, Eragon was literally punched off the back of Cadoc.

The Urgal leaned over Harry and placed its massive foot on his chest. Harry looked up at the creature with repulsion – it was at least a foot higher than his 5' 9", with twisted horns sprouting from the side of its war-beaten face. Its arms were like miniature tree-trunks and it looked as though it could squash Harry simply by pressing down on his chest with its massive foot. It leered at him, displaying rows of brown, deformed teeth. It raised its spear to strike.

Harry didn't give it a chance to do more than that – he quickly whipped out his wand and blasted it off of his chest into a nearby building. He quickly jumped to his feet and unsheathed Aiedail – time to make his promise a reality. Brom was involved in a similar battle, so he couldn't help, whilst Eragon was nowhere to be seen. The Urgal quickly jumped to its feet and ran at him, howling its savage war cry. Harry looked at it with disgust and raised his wand with one hand, Aiedail in the other. He felt great hatred rise up in him like a fire – hatred far greater than that he had felt when Bellatrix had killed Sirius. He didn't think, just acted.

'_Sectumsempra!'_

The Urgal was thrown backwards, blood spurting from the slash marks across its body. Harry slowly walked over to it, giving the spell time to run its course. This time, he didn't feel remorse for using it; he felt satisfaction for removing this disgusting abomination from the world. Wheezing, it struggled to stand up, only making it to its knees. Harry took one look at the creature before swinging his sword at its neck.

The force of the blow decapitated it.

Without a second glance, Harry hurried over to Brom, who had been knocked down by his own opponent. As the second Urgal raised the war-hammer it was carrying high above its head, Harry quickstepped behind it and plunged his sword into its chest. After a few seconds, he tore it out again and let the monster fall to the ground, the war-hammer still in hand.

Brom was wounded, Harry knew. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw the long, blood-soaked cut running down the old man's arm. He had been knocked out cold, as well. Harry picked the old man up and placed one of his arms around his shoulders, only to remember that Eragon wasn't there. He looked around frantically, searching for his friend. Finally, he emerged from behind one of the houses, looking like he had come straight from the pits of Hell.

'What the _Hell_ happened to you?' Harry exclaimed. Eragon looked as though he hadn't eaten or slept in days. He sagged against the building, trying to stay on his feet.

'Later,' he dismissed. Harry noted how faint his voice was; it alarmed him greatly. 'Right now, we have to get the blazes out of this town before more Urgals show up.'


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight – A New Enemy**

As the darkness of night-time fell over Alagaësia, so did the spectres of the dead of Yazuac. They descended from the heavens and haunted Harry's dreams, as Voldemort had done a million years ago. They stood there impassively, with piercing blue eyes and white skin, looking like fearsome ghouls from centuries past, waiting for him to wake. But Harry couldn't awaken; for if he did, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep again. Not with the lives he had taken branded in his mind and soul. Did he have a soul anymore? Was it doomed to be torn apart as Voldemort's had been? After all, murder was the greatest evil.

After spending an eternity in this nightmare, he was released. The view he had rippled like water on a lake and when it cleared again, he was standing beside the Burrow, knee-deep in mucky water within one of the surrounding fields. The house was burning, a vast plume of black smoke engulfing the sky like the thunderclouds of an almighty storm. There were bodies outside, spread along the ground. He counted ten – eight with flaming red hair, one with a dazzling blonde head, and the other with a mane of bushy hair. Harry wanted to scream in terror, but found that he couldn't open his mouth to get the sound out. He hated dreams like that. Or was this a dream? He felt strong hands twist his body around so he was staring into the mask of a Death Eater. A wand was shoved into his face; there was a blinding flash of green light…

He awoke gasping, sweat pouring down his face and back. Brom didn't notice – he was too busy leading the group, whilst Eragon was still passed out in the saddle. Harry wished that Brom would stop to let them rest, but the old man was insistent: they had to keep moving, or the Urgals could easily find them once more. Harry didn't like the sound of that at all, so he stowed his objections. Currently his mind was a Rubik's Cube - he couldn't make sense of anything. Brom thought that he might be coming down with a fever, but there was no elevated temperature, nor any feeling of nausea.

After several hours of feeling like absolute crap, Harry was finally permitted the rest he needed when Brom bid him to stop. Enough was enough, he had said. In his mind, Harry had no idea what was happening to him, but in his gut, he had a very bad feeling. That often meant there was trouble ahead. When Brom stopped the horses, Saphira landed beside them. She absolutely refused to be parted from all of them, especially Eragon, even for one night.

'_I won't leave him until I know what is happening,'_ she told them in a "voice" that brokered no room for argument.

Harry felt safer with her around, so he wouldn't have complained if he was capable in any case. It was always comforting to know that there was a large, overly-protective and occasionally bloodthirsty dragon by your side. Harry stumbled out of Godric's saddle and collapsed onto the makeshift bed that was already waiting for him, courtesy of Brom. His dreams were troubled, as they had been on the road, but he was too exhausted to pay them any mind.

Harry awoke to a blistering fire in the darkness. Feeling groggy, he sat up, wondering what was happening.

'I thought you said "no" to a fire?' he asked Brom, as soon as he had it figured out.

'The need is too dire to pass it by this time. Eragon still hasn't awoken,' the old storyteller replied.

Harry yawned and rose off the ground. He walked over to the fire and sat himself down, grateful for the warmth. Brom was seated across from him, his eyes reflecting firelight and starlight. There was no moon to be seen.

'What's the matter with him?' Harry asked, concerned. He turned his head to look momentarily at his friend, lying beside the fire. Realistically, he could have been sleeping peacefully.

For a moment, Brom didn't answer. He merely continued to stare, apparently pondering the situation. Harry had tried that earlier, and hadn't been able to make heads nor tails of it. Finally, the old man spoke:

'The question isn't "what", but "how". _How_ did Eragon use magic?'

Harry narrowed his eyebrows. 'That's what happened? He used magic?'

Brom nodded.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. 'It doesn't make any sense – magic doesn't exhaust you in such a manner.'

Brom rubbed his beard casually. 'I've had a time to think about this, and I do believe your form of magic is different to our own – the magic of the dragon riders, that is.'

'How do you figure?'

'Your magic requires a… stick-'

'Wand.'

'-a "wand", yes. That appears to be how your magical energy is focused, so I would deduce there is something powerful in your wand that makes such magic possible. Am I correct?' he asked.

'Yes,' Harry replied, 'each wand contains a unique core, through which magic is channelled into… _physical being_, I guess you could say. My own wand contains the feather of a Phoenix, which is a magical bird from my homeland. You can have other cores, though – Unicorn hair, Dragon Heartstring-'

'_I'm sorry, what was that last one?'_ Saphira interrupted, raising her head and looking at him.

_Oh, bugger…_ Harry thought urgently. He didn't think of how that could upset her before he'd spoken; a grave mistake, clearly. 'Dragon Heartstring…' Harry muttered, looking shamefully at the ground. 'Saphira, I'm certain that they only take the Heartstring from dragons that are… well… _dead_.'

Saphira narrowed her eyes, appearing unconvinced. She did, however, offer a bit of sympathy, which surprised Harry. _'I can understand that dragons from your homeland are wild, but I'm no happier thinking about it.'_

'Nor am I,' Harry admitted to her in earnest. Quickly, he returned to his previous conversation: 'you were saying?'

'Yes – the magic that you can implement draws the necessary energy from the core of your "wand", I believe. Am I correct in saying that?' Brom asked.

'Maybe,' Harry said doubtfully. 'Magic in my homeland requires a wand, yes, but only someone with magical blood can actually use it. It's as if they're two unique codes, both of which are required to access the magic.'

'I see. In any case, your magic clearly doesn't draw energy from your body, else your previous acts would have tired you slightly. On the other hand, using the Ancient language _does_ tap into your own power, which is why it exhausted Eragon upon use. It wouldn't have made him pass out under normal circumstances, however; if it was just me and him, he probably would have forced himself to stay awake. But, since you're here and he trusts you, I daresay he thought the time was right for a little nap.'

'So we could just wake him up if we wanted to?' Harry asked incredulously.

'Yes, but I suggest you don't. It really took a lot out of him, so let him sleep a little longer. When he does awaken, he'll need food and perhaps some rest in the saddle, then he'll be as right as rain. I'm hoping the fire will help as well.'

Harry stared at the old storyteller, playing back the events of previous days in his mind, as well as Brom's vast wealth of knowledge and experience. It was too much to be coincidental.

'You're a Dragon Rider, aren't you?' Harry asked carefully.

For the first time, Brom raised his eyes to meet Harry's. Harry thought he saw something strange in them – a deep kind of sadness, maybe. When Brom didn't answer immediately, Harry knew he was correct.

'Why didn't you tell us?' Harry whispered, more hurt than angry.

Brom closed his eyes and shook his head. 'There was no need to. I once was a dragon rider, yes, but I am no longer. My dragon is long dead, and if it wasn't for me, so would the three of you be.'

'I understand that,' Harry said slowly, 'but why don't you tell Eragon and use your knowledge to help him?'

'I _am_ doing that, Harry. I'm doing it to the best of my ability, but I think you can forgive me for not deciding to drag up the past unnecessarily. And nor am I going to start doing so now; you must promise not to tell Eragon.'

'Why?'

'I have my reasons for not telling him. Suffice it to say, you're just going to have to trust me. Can you do that, boy?'

Harry hesitated, but then nodded sincerely. He had known Brom was a magician ever since their first conversation in Carvahall, but a Dragon Rider was a different matter altogether. In Alagaësia, they were renowned for keeping the peace, not to mention their magical strength and the connection they had with their dragons, which many people overlooked rather too easily in their remembering of the riders. Brom had told them a fair few stories about the subject in their travels, which Harry found incredibly intriguing.

He had kept his tongue about Brom's magic from Eragon and Saphira, but could he push this to the back of his mind as well? It wasn't an easy decision - that much was certain. As Brom had stated so truly, it all boiled down to trust. Trust was a privilege, not a right. And since Harry had trusted Brom from the first time they had met, it felt as though he had earned Harry's silence.

'Yes,' Harry said simply, 'I can.'

* * *

To general relief, Brom's wisdom proved true yet again. Eragon awoke some time later, very hungry, but otherwise fine. After a quick meal of wild game that Brom had caught earlier, he sat beside the two of them normally, as though nothing had happened. Harry was amazed – the first time he had done something strange and incredible, which included setting a rather vicious snake on his cousin, he was so shocked that he forgot to hide his expression, and Vernon had locked him in the cupboard under the stairs for a whole week. Harry spent a while exploring the surrounding area to keep boredom at bay. They were camped beside the Ninor River, directly south of Yazuac. Along the riverbank grew ferns, daises and other weeds no more interesting than the grass surrounding them. Beyond the river, heading further south, he could see a vast plain, so large that it continued out to the horizon. It probably kept going past that point, also. If it were daylight, he could maybe see just how far…

When he returned to camp, Brom and Eragon seemed to be arguing heatedly.

'You demand answers with an insolence I have never before see!' Brom shouted. 'Perhaps if you knew what you were asking for, you wouldn't be so quick to do so!'

'Then why don't you stop shouting and tell me?' Eragon retaliated.

Brom sighed when Harry sat down, looking interested. 'And I suppose you want to know as well?'

_About a new form of magic, unknown to the Wizarding World? Hell yes._'That depends on what you're talking about,' he instead replied.

Brom ignored him and returned his attention to Eragon. 'I knew this would happen sooner or later,' he admitted. 'All dragon riders had the ability, although some discovered it sooner than you did, whereas others discovered it later in their training.'

'Training?' Eragon raised an eyebrow, whilst Saphira continued to watch the three of them sleepily. Harry smirked to himself at the gesture. Eragon sounded like an over-excited child on Christmas day, not that they would have any clue what Christmas was…

'Yes. There's no point trying to dissuade you from not using this ability, so I shall instead attempt to teach you how to control it. I don't want you to kill or dismember yourself, after all…' Brom said darkly.

'So…' Harry began, 'first lesson?'

'Tomorrow,' Brom said haughtily, flashing him a look of irritation. 'You both need to rest, and I could do with a few hours myself.'

* * *

_He was in a cold, dark room, empty of furniture and other people. There were no doors, nor windows. The walls, ceiling and floor were completely bare, neither painted nor decorated. Suddenly, he was surrounded by Urgals – at least thirty of them. He could not reason with the brutes, so he drew his sword and began to cut through them at lightning-pace. He slashed, he stabbed, he parried… every time his sword made an offensive move, one of the foul creatures fell to the ground, dead. In a flash of steel, a limb would fly across the room and his face would be covered in blood._

_He moved faster than he could in real life, so that none could stand before him. After the bloody engagement, a nagging question sprung to the top of his mind: where am I?_

_His "thought" must have been out loud, for a voice answered him from the shadows. 'You are where I brought you to, Potter – Alagaësia.'_

'_What are you talking about?' Harry asked, frightened. 'Isn't this a dream?'_

'_It is, but _I _am real, Potter, and I am speaking to you now, in reality.'_

'_Who are you? Voldemort?'_

'_Do I sound like Voldemort?'_

'_No, but who else could you possibly be?'_

'_His creation.'_

'_What the hell are you talking about?' Harry shouted, looking all around him. He still saw no one, except for the dead bodies on the floor. The voice was coming from… nowhere. He started to panic, although he wasn't quite certain why. Then he realised something terrible: if this was a dream, he couldn't bring himself to wake up. It was like King's Cross all over again, only he wasn't… well, he _couldn't _have died, could he?_

_The man – for it was a man's voice – laughed wickedly. 'All in good time, Potter. There is much you do not know.'_

_Harry felt very uneasy; there was something very off happening here and he didn't like it at all._

'"_Voldemort's final victory",' the man began to speak. 'I am what remains of him; a new type of Horcrux.'_

'_That's impossible! The Horcruxes were all destroyed! He only created six!'_

'_Seven, if we include the piece of his soul lodged in your body,' the man said conversationally. 'However, in life, he set about making new spells. TERRIBLE spells. Spells that would, upon his death, transport him to a new body without the use of a typical Horcrux.'_

_Harry shook his head in disbelief. 'This is ridiculous. Nobody knows how to do anything like that, and even if Voldemort did, then why isn't he here now?'_

'_Unfortunately for him, the magic did not work as successfully as planned. Unsurprising, really, when you consider that it had never been tried or tested before.'_

'_Why not?'_

_The man laughed, making hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. With a sudden flash, a figure appeared in front of Harry. He saw with horrible shock that it wasn't Voldemort…_

'_You look like me!' Harry shouted, feeling an odd combination of fear, anger and confusion; he didn't look exactly like Harry – he had a mixture of features from both Harry and Voldemort. Harry's eyes, nose and mop of black hair, although that particular feature was brown, as Tom Riddle's had once been. He also had the same mouth that Riddle had, which was curled back in a horrible sneer. He looked like the twisted love-child of Harry and Voldemort. Harry shuttered as he imagined that._

_The Horcrux laughed again; a twisted laugh, so like Voldemort's. 'Indeed I do. You see, Potter,_I _am what remains of the fragment of Voldemort's soul lodged in your body. Perhaps Dumbledore forgot to tell you, but only a few things can destroy a Horcrux, and the killing curse is _not _one of them. Instead, it created an effect never before seen: a real-life purgatory that you witnessed first-hand. Before you chose to return to life from King's Cross once more, I had an opportunity. I awoke inside you, during your moment of… helplessness, when your mind was separated from your body. You were unable to hold me back, so I swiftly found a part of you to reside in, from where I can awaken whenever I so please.'_

'_It can't be,' Harry said in disbelief. 'You can't be… real.'_

'_Oh? Then how do you explain losing control of your body under Malfoy Manor? It was I, Potter. Your opposite. Your alter ego, so to say,' the Horcrux replied, smiling widely. That only served to disconcert Harry even further._

'_If you weren't destroyed, then what was that thing with me and Dumbledore at King's Cross?' Harry asked._

'_An illusion,' the Horcrux replied simply._

'_What do I call you, then?' Harry asked, abhorred by this abomination before him. 'Do you have a name?'_

'_Tom Riddle,' it replied carefully, apparently thinking hard. 'I can choose whichever name I so please, and I happen to think Voldemort sounds mediocre. He was mediocre, point in fact.'_

_Harry and Riddle stared at each other; one was apparently happy, the other very confused._

'_I don't understand,' Harry said bluntly._

_Riddle raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. 'Oh? Which part?'_

'_Everything! If Voldemort was creating new spells, how could you have ended up inside _my _body? Why not his? If you came to this form when I died, what was the purpose of the blood in that Portkey? And what the hell do you want from me!' Harry shouted. The noise reverberated off the walls and echoed for half a lifetime before stopping abruptly._

_Riddle smirked. 'I believe I will answer those questions in order: firstly, I ended up in here' – Riddle spread his arms, gesturing at the room – 'because Voldemort was experimenting on the night your parents died. Unfortunately for him, he went too far and his soul became very fragile as a result. The killing curse was enough to rip it apart, and I was forced to attach myself to the only living creature in the room – you. While the rest of his soul escaped to his first Horcrux, I instead had to choose you._

_'Secondly, a year after his return, my old friend realised that it was possible he could be defeated again. Of course, he never admitted this to anyone, but he _did _create an escape plan.'_

'_He found a way to teleport to Alagaësia,' Harry nodded, listening intently._

'_Yes… I never found out how, as I have been with you the whole time, however. As you can guess, he never got a chance to use his means of escape, because his desire to kill you was much stronger than his will to simply "run away". He forced Lucius Malfoy to hide the Portkey under his manor, although he never told him what it was, only that it was more valuable than his life. The Portkey was good for one trip only, I'm afraid, so you can forget about anybody discovering where you are.'_

'_I gave up on that hope a long time ago.'_

'_Good. You wouldn't want to waste away, hoping for that which will never happen. The blood had a single task: to make the Portkey even more powerful, so it could transport one to this land.'_

'_Wait a minute,' Harry exclaimed. 'You said you've been with me the whole time. How do you know all this?'_

_Riddle smirked once more. 'Your connection with Voldemort. Whilst you were momentarily connected to him throughout the years, I had a few seconds to reach out and read sections of his mind at a time. I discovered the portkey during the final battle, when you purposefully connected with him. He was momentarily thinking about escaping, you see._

_'Imagine my joy when I realised I could come to this land, and call it my own! No hope of any other wizards stopping me!' Riddle shouted, sounding triumphant._

_Harry felt his blood go cold. 'How do you still exist? With Voldemort dead, shouldn't you have gone with him?'_

'_No. The Horcruxes must be destroyed before the creator can be killed, but I am not a regular Horcrux. I have been attached to you, so I have grown independent of Voldemort. Quite the opposite of your theory, Potter: when he died, I started to gain strength because the rest of his soul vanished, leaving me room to grow. True, I was temporarily weakened from the effort of controlling you at Malfoy Manor, but I have made up for that now, and added so much more._

_'And now, Potter, we come to your last question. What do I want with you? I do not want _anything _from you. You have served your purpose by being my temporary vessel, but now I have no further need of you. At last, I have the strength to survive on my own, and rule this land!'_

_Harry glared at Riddle, disgusted even more than he had been earlier. 'You're even worse than he was, you know.'_

_Riddle smiled for the umpteenth time. 'I do know. But at the same time, I have both your abilities as well as his entire strength to build upon. Once I do that, I will be unstoppable. Before I go, I feel I owe you an explanation, Potter. The whole reason for this conversation is to distract you while you're sleeping. I knew if I could get you interested enough I would have no reason to keep you here – in your mind – using my own power.'_

_Harry's heart began to beat furiously. 'A distraction for what?'_

_Riddle tilted his head slightly to the side. 'Why, so I can escape, of course. Your mind was involuntarily suppressing my own, but now it's trapped inside this little creation of mine. I'm afraid you will feel severe pain throughout the process. I ask only that you stay out of my way as I rule Alagaësia, and I will spare your life in return. Cross me… and you _will_ die. Goodbye, Harry Potter.'_

The room seemed to disappear in a whirlwind of sickening pain, protruding straight from Harry's chest. His eyes snapped open, just as he felt a great pressure building up beside his heart. Gasping in pain, he ripped his shirt open and saw to his horror that something appeared to be bulging inside his upper torso. Slowly, it began to force itself outwards, until Harry was sick with pain. With a flash of horror, he remembered that scene from the film _Alien_ and was afraid that some creature was about to burst through his body, before scampering away.

That didn't happen, however. Instead, the… _thing_ began to retreat back inwards, before slowly travelling upwards. Harry felt his heart begin to race as he realised it was heading for his throat. He tried to call for help, but only managed a strangled cry of pain. In an instant Saphira woke up, having the best hearing, and immediately saw what was happening. She roared to wake up Brom and Eragon and succeeded in doing so. They were there immediately; trying to help him stay calm as something began to crawl up his throat, cutting off the flow of air.

The pain was so great that Harry was about to pass out, but something prevented him from doing so.

_Riddle._

As what would happen if you stuck your fingers down your throat, Harry threw up, but instead of the usual fragments of half-digested food from his stomach, what appeared to be a thick black shadow came flying out and landed _solid_ on the ground beside the four of them. At the very least, there was an overwhelming release from the excruciating, torturous pain that Harry had felt only moments ago, but what it meant was much, _much_ worse.

Quickly, the shadow began to change shape, growing larger each time. Harry was afraid to approach it and clearly, Eragon and Brom felt the same way. When the thing formed into a fully-grown man, Harry knew it was over. A much more terrible version of himself had come to life, with all of Voldemort's strengths and abilities. Fleetingly, he saw Riddle's face grin evilly at him, before a blast of white light encompassed the entire camp, blinding everybody. When his sight returned seconds later, Harry saw Riddle no more. Somehow, he had disappeared. With the pain residing, Harry remembered the divulged sections of Riddle's plans. He wanted everything for himself, at the expense of thousands of others. At that point, Harry thought one thing only:

_I have a new enemy._

**A:N - (Edited note) I know this section may be confusing for some people, but bear with me. All will be explained in good time. This development has occurred for only one reason, which I have now revealed in Chapter Eleven.**


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine – Fragments**

Eragon awoke rather pleasantly, which was a welcome change from the past few weeks. Although the thrill of the hunt still resided in his mind, heart and soul, it stayed there more often than not. If he thought of it too much, he would grow reckless. He yawned and sat up, pushing the blankets of his makeshift bed away from him. He tensed as a glow of white light passed over his face, then recoiled as he heard a loud crack less than a moment later. Grabbing his sword, Eragon quickly jumped to his feet and drew it. He was about to awaken Brom when he seen what had caused the disturbance and sighed lowly in relief.

'I didn't wake you, did I?' Harry asked, without turning his head. Eragon saw his wand in-hand, a recently destroyed tree and quickly summed-up what was happening.

'No,' he replied. 'I just awoke and heard you. May I ask what you're doing?'

'Practicing,' Harry muttered.

Eragon walked over to his friend cautiously. It had been three days since that thing had scared the wits out of Eragon, and in those three days, Harry had begun to act very differently. He no longer argued with Brom, even half-heartedly, no longer got quickly annoyed at the little things, but he had taken to practicing magic an awful lot. Brom had encouraged him to do so, but had also urged him to take it easy at times. Despite not drawing upon Harry's strength, too much could be dangerous, Eragon summarised.

'I understand that,' Eragon nodded. 'But, what type of practicing? "How to destroy a tree?"'

Harry turned his head and grinned morosely. 'That wouldn't be very useful, would it? Actually, as I'm sure you've guessed by now, any type of magic can be difficult to implement, so I'm attempting to master as much as possible. I have the feeling I'm going to need it as soon as possible, as are you,' he added.

Eragon shrugged. 'It's difficult to get into, I must admit. Even a task as rudimentary as lifting a pebble is quite taxing for now.'

'"For now"?'

'Brom says I'll only get stronger as time goes on,' Eragon explained.

'That's a good thing,' Harry said, 'but… if it's true that the king's strength has been growing every year for over a century…'

'I know,' Eragon said lowly. 'I can only hope I never have to face him, but if what Brom has told us is true, then he is a tyrant, and must be brought to justice.'

Harry raised his want towards the tree once more. 'Tyrants never see sense without forced help – it's up to society to dethrone them. That normally results in an uprising, which is how I'm assuming the Varden came into being?'

'Yes,' Brom replied, stepping beside Eragon, who jumped at the unexpected appearance of the old man. 'I believe one man brought those "outcasts" together, as the king had power enough to destroy any opposition. But that has changed now.'

Harry nodded, but Eragon was confused. 'What are you talking about?'

Brom turned his head and looked down at him directly. 'I owe you an explanation from before,' he admitted. 'You may recall when I refused to give the two of you any information?'

'Of course I do,' Eragon said.

'Well…' Brom said hesitantly. 'I've since changed my mind, because things are different than I originally anticipated.'

'What does that mean?'

'It means that I'm going to tell you everything you need to know in order to survive much sooner than planned,' Brom explained. 'For reasons regarding experience and wisdom, there are certain things I won't reveal to you _yet_, but that can wait until another time,' he dismissed.

'What he really means is that because _I'm_ here, and have brought some type of demon with me, he's being forced to reveal all of this sooner than expected. It's an issue with mortality,' Harry explained vaguely.

Brom narrowed his eyes. 'What is that supposed to mean? "An issue with mortality"?'

'Nothing bad,' Harry said quickly. 'Just that, because we could have faced death a couple of days ago, you're starting to panic slightly…'

'Don't presume my change of heart is because I'm frightened of death, boy,' Brom said. 'I've faced death many times before, and have barely emerged standing on my feet.'

'I don't mean for you,' Harry said, shaking his head. He turned to look at both of them once more. Eragon saw a haunted expression in his face, and realised he hadn't seen Harry sleeping since… it happened.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean you're afraid for us.'

There was a momentary silence. 'Just a little,' he admitted. 'If anything, a few nights ago proved how something can happen that's out of my power to control, and I can't afford for something bad to happen to either of you.'

Harry replied: 'If it's any consolation, I've already put a few pieces together, from when you were storytelling in Carvahall. I know, for example, that Eragon is the last free Rider, and as a result, the last hope for the Varden to destroy the Empire. Am I right?'

Brom nodded, and Eragon looked aghast.

'Don't give me that look,' Brom snapped. 'How would you have reacted if I had told you that sooner than now?'

Eragon mused over that for a moment. In truth, he would have felt far worse – the thought of still being half-a-boy, and hearing how you were wanted to destroy the most powerful magician in the history of Alagaësia… it was a lot to take on board. As a matter of fact, he was surprised not to feel more panic or disbelief flow through his veins. Nonetheless, he was annoyed that Harry knew the truth.

'Couldn't _you_ have told me this sooner?' he asked pointedly.

Harry shrugged casually. 'No. I knew Brom had his reasons for not saying, so I decided not to do so either. Besides, I only put the pieces together like… yesterday,' he chuckled humourlessly. Eragon could tell he was doing his best to show emotion, but that he really didn't want to. Harry had clearly been deeply affected by the events of the past few days, without doubt. That being said, there was something else not quite right…

Rain began to fall across the visible sky, leaving the wetlands truly soaking. The river beside them began to ripple violently, with rain-drops clattering against its translucent surface. Wind started to blow, whistling through the air like an unseen spectre, freezing the group as well as half-drowning them. In response to the onslaught of bad weather, Harry cast an _impervius _charm around his body, and offering to do the same for the others. Eragon accepted, whereas Brom and Saphira both refused outright.

'_No daughter of the sky fears a little water,' _Saphira said.

'And I know how to swim,' Brom said with sarcasm.

'Oh, ha ha,' Harry replied. 'I'll leave you two to it, then.'

Swiftly, Harry turned and walked about thirty metres downstream, this time taking Aiedail. And thus he began to move in a series of patterns and stances, as Brom had begun to teach them. Rapidly, he brought the sword across the chest of the air in front of him, before beginning to swing faster than he ever had before. The sword was a blur of light, ripping through the air and gutting imaginary enemies. With an almighty cry, Harry swung the blade around with such force it flew from his hands and embedded itself in a nearby tree, surprising the young wizard. Eyebrows raised, he walked over and grabbed the hilt, but found himself unable to remove it from the trunk.

'What the-'

Instead of trying again, he took his wand out again and carefully pointed it at the sword. Then he hesitated.

_What are the words?_

He thought long and hard, but was unable to remember. That was most definitely odd, as well as unnerving. Harry had never forgotten such a simple spell, even in first year. He had also been practicing almost five days out of seven since arriving most inadvertently in Alagaësia so long ago – how could this be possible? There was no way one's memory could deteriorate so noticeably at the age of eighteen, was there?

Suddenly, he remembered.

'_Accio _sword.'

The sword obeyed his magic and drew itself from the tree, causing the bark to split across the centre. It truly had been embedded most deeply. As it stood, however, Harry's mind was not focused on the strength of his throw, but a nagging question at the back of his mind. It may have been coincidence, but he thought that was unlikely.

How had he forgotten?

* * *

'It's your turn, Harry,' Brom ordered.

Harry took a deep breath.

'_Stenr reisa.'_

In response to Harry's words, the pebble on the ground before them raised a foot into the air. There it stayed, unlike the last time. The effect on Harry's physical strength was almost instantaneous – a great weight seemed to land on his shoulders, and he was forced to release the magic before collapsing.

'It's still taking a lot out of me,' Harry pointed out.

Brom nodded in response. 'I suspected as much. It proves my point that your native magic is different to our own, and you are still susceptible to its limitations.'

Harry was disappointed, but didn't let it show. Brom didn't miss a trick, however, and grinned at him. 'Don't let it get you down too much – with enough practice, the two of you will both become very powerful magicians; you because you're a dragon rider, Eragon, and you because you have very potent magical blood,' he nodded at Harry.

'Thank you for being complimentary, but it doesn't console me when I'm aware I let a… _demon_ lose upon the world,' Harry said gloomily. Of late, that _had_ been getting him down quite a lot.

Brom pointed at Harry. 'You shouldn't blame yourself. You had no way of knowing.'

'No, I did,' Harry replied, shaking his head. 'I had a mentally intimate link with… with V-Voldemort,' he said hesitantly. 'What the hell…?'

'What?' Eragon asked.

'That's the second time today I've forgotten something about… well, my world,' Harry said. 'It's ludicrous. What's happening?'

Brom blinked, and rose abruptly. That was all the suspicion Harry needed to realise he knew something, but he decided to keep his tongue for the moment. Eragon missed the gesture, as he was staring at Harry instead.

'I haven't known you to forget anything since you came to Carvahall, but it happens to everyone. It's probably just because you're exhausted,' Eragon said comfortingly. Harry was sure Saphira would have added her thoughts on the matter, had she not been trying to drown out their words with snores that made his uncle Vernon's seem like CDs of white noise. He grinned at the thought, and was instantly cheered up.

'You're probably right,' he said, rising. Eragon mirrored him.

'Okay, no lollygagging,' Brom scolded. 'Daret is only a few hours away, and I mean to reach it by sundown, so let's go!' he said, directing the loud words at Saphira, who opened her eyes and yawned widely.

'_Good morning, little one,'_ she told Eragon.

'_It's almost evening,' _he replied, inwardly laughing.

She blinked. _'Really? I guess I overslept.' _

'_Harry's starting to forget things,' _Eragon told her, sounding worried.

Saphira paused in the act of cleaning her claws and looked over at the peculiar young man, packing away his sword and saddling Godric. He then ate a little bread and drank some water, to regain lost strength after the use of magic. Saphira felt sorrow. _'Brom's theory is correct, then.' _

'_Not necessarily. It may be so, but we can't be sure.' _

'_If it is true…'_ Saphira said warningly.

'_I know, I know,' _Eragon said. _'…if it's true, he's going to lose all memory of his own world.' _

'_I'm afraid so. I'm also afraid it most likely is true. None of us saw what Harry saw that night, but I could "feel" everything. The two of you were frightened to approach him, rather like rabbits.'_

Eragon shook his head sadly. _'I don't like lying to him, but even worse, I'm not sure why Brom _is_ lying to him.' _

'_Nor am I, but we will know before long, I believe.'_

* * *

For several hours the trio spurred their horses onwards, each in silence. Brom was more than happy to do so. He hated having to lie to Harry, but what choice did he have? Coming right out and telling him the truth could prove fatal. Brom knew what was happening to the boy, because something similar had also happened to him. Going through a war, nearly dying on multiple occasions and seeing your friends fall before you were enough to topple even the mightiest of men, but this was even worse. Brom had lost his dragon, and Harry had lost part of his mind when that dark wizard had tried to kill him again.

There was no _demon_, as such. The thing Harry believed had come out of his body was fictitious, as neither Brom nor Eragon had seen it. Brom didn't know enough about Harry's life to make more accurate assumptions, but he thought it reasonable the boy had been through some terrible times, and that recent stress had simply gotten to him. It might have been allowed to wane once more had he went on to live in peace, but those bastard villagers had seen to that in Carvahall, and now things were shimmering once more.

From how Harry had recently described his encounter with the dark wizard, he had been hit squarely by a killing spell of his magic, yet had survived, for the second time in his life. He had explained how he couldn't have been killed due to the mystical powers of some supreme _elder wand_, but Brom still found the entire thing queer. War had an awful effect on the mind of a young man, and this was the proof. Harry's mind, very disturbingly, was _playing _with him. Brom shuddered at the thought.

After thinking this way for several hours without stopping, Brom had come to one concise conclusion: that killing curse several months ago had blasted Harry's weakened mind into fragments, each joined together like the hollow shell of an egg. Whilst it may have healed over time with peace and love, Harry had not been granted such luck, and the cracks were finally beginning to show. He was seeing things, and was steadily growing more emotional, like a young girl in love. Now, part of that mind had almost broken away entirely, and his memory was suffering accordingly. Nothing physical had transpired that night, despite Harry's profound beliefs.

Brom looked upwards anxiously as a clap of thunder rolled overhead. The grass around the river was still very wet, not that it mattered much whilst on horseback. Along the dirt road they rode at a reasonable pace, not paying much mind to the scenery as it followed them. Trees were common here and there, on both sides of the river. Along the western side of the road, grass and flowers grew wildly, occupying every inch of space they were able to. In the distance, the Spine was visible vaguely, the outline of some of its mountains still in eyesight, but barely so. Above them had been a clear blue sky lined by rays of sunlight, only to now be replaced by great grey storm-clouds. Brom pulled his cloak around his shoulders tighter, and continued onwards.

Harry had been right in telling them they had a new enemy, but he was wrong in specifying what it was. The enemy was his _mind_, not a physical being. Brom wouldn't tell him yet. He _couldn't_, for fear of what might happen. Ideally, he would take the boy to the elves, and they could cure him, but that would take far too long. He had to find some other means of helping him, and soon. Very soon, before things got even worse. In the meantime, he could think of only one exercise for Harry's mind, to fight against the cracks. He called for the two younglings to stop, and they dismounted eagerly onto the wet river-land, stretching cramped legs. To Brom's great relief, the storm he feared did not come. The clouds merely looked ominous for another while, but then dispersed, leaving another clear view of the sun once more. He was grateful the snow had finally melted, although it was still a very chilly afternoon.

Brom dismounted. 'Okay, we'll have a ten minute break, and then back on the road again. In the meantime, Harry, I want you to take a quill and parchment, and write down every spell that you know.'

Harry looked understandably confused. 'Why? Are you afraid I'll forget more?'

Brom shook his head, perhaps a little too hastily. 'Not as such, no. I merely wish to compare your magic with ours, and see if they can be used with each other. I need a list of your spells so I can test them all.'

It was a good cover, and it worked. Harry nodded in reply. 'Alright. I'll see what I can do.' With that, he began the task.

Carefully, he wrote the obvious ones done first – spells like e_xpelliarmus, stupefy, impervius, incarcerous, reparo, sectumsempra, accio, levicorpus,_ etc. All of those were easy and he thought of automatically, thankfully having no more difficulty with _accio._ Next were a large number of hexes and curses he had learned over the years, such as tongue-tying, which he thought could be useful. At the end of his work, Harry counted a grand total of fifty seven spells, including those aforementioned. But that couldn't be right. He had learned so many more. Incredibly frustrated, he began to wonder loudly what was happening, but then hesitated.

He had forgotten to write three particular spells. Not that he had actually forgotten them; just that it never occurred to him to write them down. For a minute, Harry pondered whether or not to share them with Brom, questioning their usage and whether the knowledge was safe to pass on. He shook his head, deciding not to. People had enough ways to kill each other. Instead, he tore the parchment in half, and gave the first half to Brom. On the second half, he wrote the words, and then stored them secretly in his backpack.

_Avada Kedavra, imperio, crucio._

After lazing around for a few minutes, entertained by Saphira chasing a flock of terrified wild geese, they continued onwards. As they rode, Harry noticed a very similar landscape to that he had seen when leaving the Spine, which was mainly grassland. What he did notice as different however, was Eragon. He was quiet, but that was to be expected. From what Brom had told him about the Varden and a war revolving around him as a dragon rider… suffice it to say, it was a lot to take it. Harry could sympathise, as he had been fifteen when Dumbledore had spoken to him of the prophecy. So long ago… after Sirius had died…

Harry didn't speak. He had problems of his own, and needed to brood over them for a little while.

* * *

They reached the river-town of Daret only a couple of hours before sundown. Honestly, it wasn't much to look at. There were a few dozen dingy houses scattered across a moderately small area of land, as well as a fishing port. Being along the Ninor River, it made sense the inhabitants would fish to survive. Despite that trail of thought, Harry could see no inhabitants to speak of. There was no marketplace, no men, women, or children walking to and fro, no fishermen, no farmers, nothing. Just an abandoned little town, seemingly devoid of life.

Harry held up a hand to halt the others. 'Wait,' he said. _'Homenum revelio.'_

This time the spell picked up signs of life. So many, in fact, that Harry was shocked. Almost a hundred people were hidden in between the buildings, or on the rooftops. Anxiously, he told Brom what he had discovered.

Brom frowned. 'Are they humans or Urgals?'

'Humans, I assume, because they're smart enough to work out how to climb onto a rooftop.'

Brom shook his head. 'Don't be so ignorant – Urgals are quite intelligent creatures, believe it or not.'

'Fair enough, but I'm sure they're humans,' Harry nodded. 'I've learned to differentiate between size of life form, and they're smaller than I'd expect an Urgal's to be.'

'Good enough for me,' Brom said cheerfully.

Carefully, the three rode into the centre of town, whilst Saphira remained hidden outside. Harry found it disconcerting to enter the town so undefended; knowing exactly where every man was stationed, but he trusted Brom's judgement. Even if he was hiding something important, yet again. When they reached the centre of town, Brom unbuckled his sword-belt and dropped it onto the ground beside him.

'We mean you no harm!' he shouted out. 'We only wish to purchase supplies, and we will be on our way!'

In response, a wagon came toppling out from behind a nearby house, blocking their means of retreat. A swarthy man jumped onto said wagon, and gazed down at them with his arms folded. Around them, archers appeared on the rooftops. Harry counted at least sixty, but refused to feel intimidated at the sight.

'You make quite a racket,' the man observed. 'Name's Trevor. What business have you here?'

'We're going to stay with our remaining family in Dras-Leona,' Brom answered calmly.

Trevor nodded. 'Where are you from, then?'

'We've lived in no place long enough to call it home. Will you permit us to buy supplies, and then be on our way?' Brom asked.

Trevor thought for a moment, and then nodded. 'I shall. Give me what you need, and my men will fetch it for you.'

Brom obliged, informing them of their need for new boots, tunics, cloaks, some meat and bread, and a pair of gloves for Eragon, to cover the gedwëy ignasia on his palm. Whilst Trevor's men set off to fetch the supplies, he unfolded his arms and relaxed somewhat.

'I'd offer to shake your hand, as is common courtesy, but in these times I think you'll understand if I keep my distance. You _are_ armed pretty heavily.'

'So are you,' Eragon observed.

Trevor shrugged. 'It's a precaution. Urgals have been spotted in the countryside, and the king refuses to send soldiers to deal with them, as usual.' Trevor spat on the ground. 'That bastard Galbatorix is about as useful as nipples on a breastplate. I can't believe I used to serve in the army. We've had to relocate our entire settlement, but we stay here to deter any would-be attackers, and fish nonetheless. You startled us, though.' He grinned.

'It's wise you take such precautions,' Harry said. 'It pains me to have to tell you, but Yazuac has been wiped out by Urgals.'

Trevor's grin turned to shock, and he stepped back, tearful. He shook his head sadly. 'This is indeed a dark day. We will toast our fallen brothers and sisters tonight, not that it will do anything.'

On cue, Trevor's men returned with their supplies. Brom thanked him and handed over a few coins in exchange.

'Do me a favour,' Trevor said. 'When you reach Dras-Leona, inform the Empire of our plight. It may be they have simply forgotten about us, but that is as worrying as the king deliberately not taking action. Tell them we _need _help urgently, or we'll all be wiped out.'

Brom nodded sincerely. 'I shall do so, I promise you. Thank you for the supplies. I should also warn you that the number of Urgals may be greater than fifty, and close to a hundred. I suggest you all evacuate this entire area. It isn't safe.'

'I'll do what I can,' Trevor said. 'It's about time we left this place, anyway.'

As they said their farewells and left the town, Harry was struck by a particular thought:

_What sort of man, king or common citizen, would abandon his people to ravaging monsters? He cannot be just, and is not fit to rule. By this day, sword in hand, I swear that I will help Brom, Eragon and Saphira destroy his rule, no matter how long it takes. I can forget about ever going home again by this point, because this land _is_ my home now. Now, and always._

* * *

**A:N – Is he real, or is he not? Is Harry losing all of his memory, or will his mind heal itself overtime? Brom might think he knows the answers, but he's been wrong before. Am I really that evil and heartless? My long update times say 'yes', but my kind nature says 'no.' Hmm... I guess you'll just have to wait in trepidation. **

**Edited Note - If I really had a kind nature, I don't suppose I would have left that note in the first place, huh? **


	10. Chapter Ten

**A:N - I had a dream two nights ago. A dream in which I was part of this tale. It occurred because I had been re-reading the entire story. Both things have since convinced me it is time to return. Forever. In preparation, I've fixed every error/typo I could find in previous chapters, and improved upon syntax. Fasten your seat-belts, folks... we're off again.**

* * *

**Chapter Ten – Joining of Two **

'The Empire is clearly in worse condition than I had imagined previously,' Brom said, as they pressed onwards.

They left Daret behind, and travelled south along the Ninor River. To their left, the water shimmered gently and reflected the sunlight with glass-like smoothness. Harry thought about what Brom had just said. The people of the land clearly depended on the Empire for protection against enemies such as the Urgals, but that did not appear to be forthcoming. It merely reinforced his view that the king cared not one whim about his subjects.

'Why doesn't Galbatorix even care about his own domain?' Harry asked curiously. It was most unusual, even for a tyrant.

Brom shrugged. 'He probably thinks himself above them, and just doesn't bother worrying about the common folk and peasants.' Brom lit his pipe, a renowned habit of his, and looked thoughtful.

'Did either of you attempt to read his mind?" Harry asked. 'Trevor, I mean. I completely forgot to try.'

Eragon shook his head, whereas Brom nodded. Harry raised his eyebrows at Brom with interest, prompting yet another lecture.

'Both of you could do with a good clattering across the head,' he sighed. 'How many times do I have to tell you to be _wary_ of strangers? What if he had been plotting an ambush? Your inability to act could have cost you your lives!'

Eragon was rather taken aback at his ferocity. 'I don't like the thought of intruding upon another's privacy,' he shrugged. 'In any case, why did you ride into town if you didn't trust him?'

Brom pointed his pipe at Eragon in a threatening manner. 'The first rule of warfare is to trust _no one_, not even the man standing next to you in battle. If you want to survive, that's what you have to do. I didn't trust Trevor. I merely realised we were surrounded and decided to _talk_ my way out of trouble. Being clever helps, you know,' he said wisely, putting the lit pipe back in his mouth.

'How can I tell if somebody is attempting to read _my _mind?' Eragon asked, breaking the momentary silence.

'As you are a magician, you'll always be able to tell,' Brom explained. 'Stopping them from doing so is another matter. You have to erect barriers around your mind, which requires a huge amount of concentration and technique to master. Only a few people are able to do so for an extended period of time.'

Harry, who already knew this from his brief time with Brom in Carvahall, ignored the majority of their conversation. Instead, he found his mind beginning to drift, a common action of his over the past few days. He knew Brom and Eragon thought he was crazy. He didn't know _how_, but just knew. They didn't believe him, as though they hadn't seen Riddle themselves.

_Perhaps they didn't see him… maybe I _am_ going crazy after all…_

'_You're not going crazy.'_

Harry blinked, and then sighed to himself. Great, now his mind was telling him he _wasn't _going crazy? That was a direct oxymoron if ever he had seen one before. If losing his memory was a result of Voldemort's curse, then maybe so too was this _vision _of Riddle. He had thought, many months ago, that the Portkey had been a tame curse due to his relaxation in Carvahall, but maybe this was its true extent now beginning to appear.

It had seemingly trapped him forever in Alagaësia, an idea he had recently started to consider as being quite attractive. But now, losing his memory? It _had_ to be a trick of Voldemort's, one which would ensure his "paradise" was never realised. Still, he believed that Riddle was real, whether the others did or did not. He had seen the creature himself, and that was enough by way of proof.

'_I am not part of your mind.'_

Harry froze, whilst Godric continued to trot forwards. He looked at Brom and Eragon slightly ahead of him, seeing that they were still engaged in conversation. He closed his eyes.

'_Who are you, then?' _Harry asked, aware that this "voice" had breached his mental barriers with no discernible effort. It wasn't Riddle. Of that much he was certain. And it was a male speaking, so it wasn't Saphira.

'_I am one who can help, Harry Potter. You are losing your mind, but not to insanity and not through any curse. The creature is real, and he has stolen a part of you.'_

Harry started. _'S-stolen? You mean he _took_ my memories?'_ he asked, feeling outraged.

'_Yes...'_ the voice responded softly, allowing the word to wash over the young wizard. Harry shuddered at the feeling.

'_Can I get them back again?' _Harry asked hurriedly.

This time the voice seemed to hesitate. _'It is possible... but difficult.'_

'_Why is it difficult?' _he asked stubbornly. He didn't know who this person was, but for some reason he felt relaxed and trusting towards the presence.

'_It is difficult because the creature is strong, and you must kill it to regain your mind as a whole. Until you do, you will continue to lose yourself as it grows in strength. I can help to slow down the process.' _

'_How?' _

Harry didn't know how he knew, but the voice smiled, if that made sense. _'I can never contact you like this again... I am too weak. You must find me, Harry Potter, so I can do more. Until you do, I give my strength to you, to help fortify your mind. But that is all, I am afraid...' _

Harry felt something like raw power wash over him, and he gasped as he mind seemed to solidify by itself. The feeling was simply breathtaking. It was as if they had joined together... he felt powerful enough to rip a mountain apart with his teeth, and yet...

'_Who are you? And why are you doing this?' _Harry asked carefully.

'_I am one who waits_,' came the reply, sounding fainter than before. _'You must find me, or I shall never be free...'_

The voice seemed to die away, until Harry "shouted": _'Wait! Tell me your name before you go!'_

There was a brief silence, and Harry feared he had missed his chance. But then:

'_...Fírnen.'_

* * *

Murtagh breathed a sigh of relief as he reached Myros' house in Gil'ead. It was a stately home situated beside the lake known as Isenstar. As was typical with most of the Empire's cities, the richer inhabitants lived on the higher tiers, away from the slums below. Murtagh had been careful not to draw any undue attention, but it was a close thing. There were too many people who would recognise the son of Morzan, and he was now a wanted man also.

In fact, coming to the city had caused him many internal debates. On the one hand, the possibility of capture was much higher than in the countryside, but on the other... well, he needed to find transportation and an emergency food source. Since the small supply boat had been on course for Gil'ead originally, that was his choice. He had disguised himself in old, ragged travelling clothes and had purposefully grimed his appearance with mud. The effect made him look like a poor farmer, and had gained him entry without much trouble.

Once inside the large city, however, he didn't head straight for his friend's house. There would surely be guards watching each and every possible entrance, aware that he was the father of Tornac. So he had waited two days after arriving, in which he spent his time residing in a local tavern. It wasn't much to look at, but that was precisely the deceptive countenance he had been aiming for. It was always better to stay somewhere hidden in plain sight, as any assassin could amount to. It was much less likely that guards would search such a downtrodden place, especially as it was one of their own resorts.

That had also been a ploy. The guards frequently visited the establishment, singing the praises of the innkeeper for his low food and ale prices. If Murtagh stayed there, he would mislead the guards into thinking that he had nothing to hide, and they would hopefully leave him alone as a result. And so he stayed there, socialising with the men of the Empire once he was confident of not being recognised. It often gave him information regarding the king's movements, particularly when he paid for their first round of drinks. The room was cheap, the ale was good and the mutton was satisfactory. It would almost be a peaceful existence, were he not constantly aware of having to keep moving someday soon.

Now, however, he decided that enough was enough. The guards had told him everything they knew about the army, the king himself – which wasn't much, of course – and his own status as a fugitive. It was time to visit Myros and pay his condolences, before calling in a favour he was owed.

And so he sighed in relief as he arrived beside the ornate wooden door, grateful that he had not passed any patrols on the way here. He cleared his throat and sharply knocked on the door twice. A second later, he knocked four times, three at the top and one near the bottom.

A few seconds passed, before the door was flung open and he was ushered inside. Myros had recognised their secret knock of old, thankfully.

_He looks terrible_, Murtagh thought. The old man was approaching fifty, but that wasn't the reason for his haggled appearance. He must have known about his son. He sported bags under his eyes, accentuating the wrinkles on his weather-beaten face, and his mop of grey hair appeared to be thinning slightly. He did not smile, but shut the door hastily.

'So, you've returned,' he said stiffly, folding his arms and frowning deeply.

Murtagh eyed him curiously, hoping he wasn't about to get punched. 'Myros, I'm so sorry. I've mourned Tornac every day since he was killed, but you have to believe me: it wasn't my fault.'

Myros snorted in disbelief and shook his head. Silently, he turned around and picked up a smooth cloth from the stand beside him. Murtagh slowly followed him into the kitchen, where he proceeded to begin drying the cutlery he had just washed.

'Tornac knew what was at stake,' Murtagh said gently. 'He understood the risks, and was willing to take them. If it helps... I tried to dissuade him from joining me.'

Myros froze and turned to face him, glaring. He picked up a nearby glass and threw it onto the floor beside him, smashing it into tiny fragments. Murtagh didn't blink or recoil, expecting such an action.

'That's what I think of you and you... _condolences_,' he spat. 'You're lucky I hate those bastard guards as much as you do, else I'd be telling them where you are right now.'

'You can blame me if you want,' Murtagh said lowly, staring into his haunted, grey eyes. 'But I promise you it wasn't my fault. If I didn't leave the king would have had me slaughter hundreds of innocent people. Children!' Murtagh said, raising his voice significantly. 'Tornac didn't want to be part of that either, so he almost _begged_ me to take him along!'

Myros shrugged and continued to his task, ignoring the glass at his feet. Murtagh gritted his teeth in frustration.

'That doesn't change the facts,' he said simply. 'My only boy is dead. _Dead._ Dead after helping _you_ escape. How are you still alive, but he isn't?' Myros asked sharply.

Murtagh swallowed. 'He was caught, and I wasn't. It's as simple as that. We arranged to meet beside the main gates, but someone must have found out and then talked. He was dead by the time I got there, and I was ambushed.'

Myros looked away, and Murtagh saw a tear rolling down his cheek. His anger, although genuine, was clearly just a cover.

'You can get what you came here for, but then you're leaving. You hear me? I never want to see you again,' Myros declared.

Murtagh sighed, expecting as much. He nodded. 'Fine. I want the bow and horse I left here a few months ago, and then I'm leaving. Actually, wait,' he continued, holding up a finger. 'I need food and water to last a few days at the very least. You owe me for getting you this house.'

Myros laughed without humour, and looked down at him with evident disdain. 'And why in hell should I help _you?_ Your bow is in the parlour there, but I'll be damned if I let you take any of my food. You've already taken my boy. Isn't that enough for the house?'

Murtagh recoiled at that, stung deeply. He exited the room swiftly and grabbed his hunting bow from its resting place beside the larder. Without another word, he departed the house, slamming the door behind him.

Growling in anger and sorrow, he walked around to the back, where his horse was resting beside a makeshift stable. He had left it here several months ago in case a situation like this ever occurred. The unnamed horse was one of war, sporting a magnificent build and grey colouring. It whinnied when it saw Murtagh, and trotted over beside him.

Murtagh gave a small smile as he patted it on the head. The saddle was nearby, so he quickly fastened it to the horse's back and got on top. It needed a name, he realised.

Murtagh hesitated for a moment, and then nodded.

'Tornac,' he said quietly. 'After my good friend.'

He gently directed Tornac forwards, and began to ride towards the main gate, drawing his hood to conceal his face. It was time to leave this city, and find somewhere new.

* * *

Harry watched with interest and shock as Saphira swiped Eragon's feet out from under him, before pinning him to the ground with her talons. The horses were alarmed at her actions, and Harry couldn't blame them. She looked very annoyed.

'What are you doing?' Eragon yelled in surprise.

She growled and lowered her face to his, not blinking. Harry considered reaching out for her mind, but thought better of that idea. It was best not to antagonise Saphira when she was in this type of mood.

He watched and waited, curious as to what her problem was. He also thought about Fírnen, however, wondering just who the stranger was. Perhaps Brom would know.

Harry almost opened his mouth to ask there and then, before hesitating. Brom already thought he was going crazy. There was no way this could help. Instead, he turned back to the sight before him, and saw Eragon getting up sheepishly.

'Well?' Brom asked testily.

'She wants me to ride her tomorrow,' Eragon replied, sounding both embarrassed and slightly terrified at the prospect.

Brom smiled, his eyes twinkling at Eragon's apprehension. 'Well, you have the saddle, so I don't there there'll be any problem. Just stay out of sight.'

'But... what if the two of you are attacked?' Eragon asked, sounding unsure. 'I won't be able to-'

Saphira growled, showing her huge rows of pointed teeth, and poked him gently in the chest. Harry grinned as he realised her problem now – she was worried about him getting into trouble all the time, and was probably now saying: _'Exactly what I'm trying to tell _you,_ little one.'_

Eragon was silent for a moment, undoubtedly communicating with her. Brom and Harry were silent, allowing them their peace. Finally, Eragon consented, and Saphira flew off. Eragon gulped as she twisted and turned in the sky.

_She's doing that on purpose!_ He thought with annoyance. _This is going to be hopeless..._

With a grumble, he helped the others to make camp for the night. Once that was taken care of, Brom drew his makeshift sword, and motioned for Harry and Eragon to do the same. Harry blinked intensely as Brom slowly circled the fire, keeping his distance. Without waiting for him, Harry attacked in a blur of movement.

He swung in a complex series of poses and stances, aiming for Brom's torso. He ensured his balance was kept, and eyed Brom's weapon all the while. This allowed him to not only dodge when necessary, but also watch for potential feints and quick attacks.

Brom nodded in appreciation after a few seconds of this action, smiling. 'Good! You're learning well! Both of you,' he added, as Eragon also began to attack, following Harry's example and succeeding quite well in warding off any attacks.

Brom hesitated as Harry went to swing, before pulling away. In that brief moment of hesitation, Eragon threw himself into the fray, spinning around and attacking with such force that his wooden sword snapped in half. The blow knocked Brom off-balance, and Harry took his advantage as ordered many nights ago. He swung sideways, knocking Brom's weapon out of his hands, before spinning and catching the old man straight in the face.

Brom was knocked to the ground with a grunt, and Harry hesitated. He went to help him up, but then remembered what Brom had said about 'cheap shots' and being 'wary'. Instead, he therefore raised his stick just in time to block Brom's attack from the ground, which would have clattered him straight between the legs. The old man jumped to his feet with great agility, sporting a cut under his left eye. He glowered at Harry intently, before beginning to take the offensive. Harry knew he would be overcome through sheer inexperience eventually, but was holding his own for the moment.

As Brom rained down blow after blow, he decided to try something different. Brom swung in from above, a move Harry blocked above his head. In the brief window of opportunity, he held on tightly with his right hand, and used his left to grab his wand. In less than a second he went from being overpowered to holding a distinct advantage. Brom looked panicked upon noticing his error, but it was too late. Harry quickly thrust his wand in the direction of Brom's chest.

'_Expelliarmus!' _

A jet of red light flew out and sent the old man to the ground once more, while simultaneously knocking the weapon out of his firm grip. Harry caught it in mid-air and stood over his opponent, more than shocked at the victory. It was the first time he had bested Brom one-on-one, or even with Eragon's help.

Eragon mirrored his expression. 'Gods above,' he muttered, patting Harry appreciatively on the back. 'Well done.'

Harry nodded in gratitude and held a hand out. Brom looked at it for only a moment, and then accepted it gratefully. He was pulled to his feet with a slight grunt from the physical exertion. Nonchalantly, he dusted-off his cloak and leggings.

'Very well,' he said simply.

'Very well... what?' Harry asked.

'We won't need these anymore,' he replied, grabbing the sticks and throwing them into the fire. 'You two have progressed so quickly it's quite remarkable... from now on, we practice with the blade.'

He motioned for them to draw their real swords, which they did quite apprehensively.

'We'll cut each other to ribbons!' Eragon protested.

Brom shook his head chidingly. 'Again you forget magic. With a simple spell the edges of any weapon can be protected. Watch.'

He quickly drew his own sword, and ran his left hand over the edges, uttering the words 'Gëuloth du knífr!' The sword's edges were dulled with a brief red spark, as he demonstrated by running his hand sharply along both edges.

'Those words... _dull the knife?_' Harry asked with interest.

Brom nodded. 'You may not know the Ancient Language as of yet, but I'm glad you're quick to grasp some words. Now, both of you do the same.'

It took about half a dozen goes each to master, but Eragon and Harry were able to repeat the effect with Zar'roc and Aiedail before too long. There was no visible effect, but they could tell the edges had been blunted through touch. The sword felt heavy and awkward to Harry after spending time fighting with such light sticks, and he knew it would be difficult to compensate when sparring.

'These swords won't cut us, but they can still break bones,' Brom warned. 'I don't want that to happen, so be extra careful. And you,' he said, indicating Harry, 'were very clever back there. In a real fight that would be a very smart move, but don't do it again here – we'll focus on improving sword fighting for now, and then move to magic battles later.'

Harry nodded, and with that they were away once more. This time Brom clearly held the advantage, having used a real sword for so many years. They sparred back-and-forth for about an hour, trading blows and mock insults. According to Brom, those would be useful in breaking the concentration of an enemy. After the melee had ended for the night, all three of them had large welts across their body, Harry and Eragon more so than Brom. It was a lot more intense than fighting with sticks, for sure.

Before dropping off to sleep, Eragon found himself remarking at Zar'roc's pristine quality, even after the pounding it had received. Meanwhile, Harry's last thought for the day was of the mysterious voice he had encountered earlier.

_F_írnen_... if it was a trick, then he wouldn't have given me his strength... But I want to know how he accessed my mind. I need to be more prepared, just in case. _Quietly, he extended his thoughts towards the mind he had encountered, not knowing if he could be heard or not.

'_I don't know who you are or where I can find you... but I will try.'_

* * *

Harry found himself rising early the next day, but found that was too late for Brom and Eragon.

'About bloody time,' Brom muttered, looking over briefly. 'I was about to kick you awake.'

Harry ignored that and yawned briefly. 'Where's Eragon?' he asked, noting his absence.

Brom grunted, lighting his pipe. His bedroll had already been replaced for the day, something which Harry quickly tried to mirror. 'He went flying with Saphira about an hour ago.'

'Huh. Even earlier start than me, in that case,' Harry pointed out.

'Yet your early start would have you flogged in a real army,' Brom chuckled. 'Come, help me search for any sign of those damned Ra'zac.'

As the two men searched the riverbank and any surrounding trails for their quarry's footprints, Eragon was having the time of his life in the sky above. He had been apprehensive at first, but had grown to love the feeling of flying through the air in no time. He laughed aloud as Saphira increased her speed in a downwards spiral, not fearing they would plummet to the ground for an instant.

'_How can you ever bear to land when you have so much fun?'_ he asked with giddiness.

'_I must eat_,' she replied with amusement. _'I am glad you enjoy it too. Does this mean we'll fly together more often, now?'_

'_Yes! Every chance we get!' _Eragon exclaimed with excitement.

As Saphira relayed her contention, Harry and Brom found something rather unusual. They had discovered the Ra'zac's tracks near the river, but beside those were several deep gouges in the dirt beside. Neither could make heads or tails of the markings, and Harry called Eragon to help.

He landed a few moments later, looking happier than Harry had seen him in a long while.

'What is it?' he asked with cheer.

Harry pointed at the tracks, and Eragon scrutinised them carefully. He frowned, wondering what could have made such unusual prints. Eragon was about to reply that he had no idea, until his eyes fell on Saphira, who was standing nearby.

Harry followed his gaze, but then froze, realising what his friend had noticed. 'That's not possible,' he whispered. 'I thought Saphira was the last dragon in the world?'

'Apart from the king's, she is,' Brom stated. He examined the gouges carefully. 'A dragon would never carry one so foul as a Ra'zac, so they must have their own steeds. It would explain how they travel from place to place so quickly,' he said with realisation, shutting his eyes momentarily.

'Well... we can't track them through the air,' Harry stated obviously. 'What can we do?'

Brom scratched his beard absently, and then looked at Eragon. 'I have one or two ideas, but neither is likely to get us very far. This is your venture, so I'll let you come up with a plan.'

Eragon nodded solemnly and walked away. Harry paused in a moment, but then decided to follow him. Two brains were better than one. He reached Eragon just as he picked up an unusual object from the ground. Harry recognised it as a metallic flask, fit with a leather strap. He froze as he approached, noting the Ra'zac's insignia.

'Wait! Don't open that!' he exclaimed urgently, raising a hand to stop Eragon.

'Why not?" he replied, frowning.

Harry hesitated. He wasn't sure if Eragon would want to hear this, but he had no choice.

'It's known as Seithr oil. It's... it's what they used to torture Garrow,' he said quietly. 'I recognise the flask.'

Eragon stared at it with repulsion. This vile liquid had been used to torture his uncle; he wordlessly remembered the horrific burns covering his body, and felt his anger flare.

Harry clasped his arm firmly. 'Don't worry – we'll kill them eventually. And... this might help us,' he said slowly, realising something.

Eragon started. It was amazing, really – both of their brains seemed to think similar things concurrently. 'This oil must be rare, so... shipping records,' he finished thoughtfully.

Harry nodded, grinning. 'Exactly. If we can find out who traded this oil, we can trace its origin and delivery point.'

'And that'll lead us to their home!' Eragon said, eyes wide. He laughed slightly, mirroring Harry's joy, and then motioned for him to follow.

They quickly explained their plan to Brom, who smiled at their intelligence. 'I wish I had thought of this sooner. It would have saved me many a headache years ago.'

'What city regulates the Empire's trading statutes?' Harry asked him. 'There must be one main location for merchant vessels and trading caravans, am I right?'

Brom nodded, his eyes twinkling. 'I believe that would be Teirm. Saddle up, both of you... we finally have a purpose, so let's move with one.'

* * *

**A:N - I'm going to start giving much fewer notes from now on, because I've begun to think they look ridiculously amateurish. However, I think I should say: I always planned this sequence with Harry's mind... I just didn't have a name before reading Inheritance. **


	11. Chapter Eleven

**A:N - I started to use double quotation marks when writing during my break, so I'm going to incorporate those into the story. It'll take a good while, but I'll eventually change to them in the earlier chapters as well. Sincerely, I hope it helps to please any American readers, although that's NOT why I've decided to change things.**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven – In the Shade's Shadow **

Ensuring not to make direct eye contact with any of the guards on-duty, Murtagh carefully guided Tornac through the open gates of Gil'ead and into the fresh air of the countryside. He had no idea what to do now, but staying in one area for a prolonged period of time whilst on-the-run just wasn't advisable. Any sane person would know the importance of keeping on the move, else capture would surely become inevitable. Myros had shunned him, so he would have to make his own way. He had no other friends who weren't staunchly loyal to the king or the Empire, so they couldn't be trusted.

Hood masking his face as much as possible, his mind was abuzz with plans and ideas, none of which were very fruitful in their nature. He breathed a sigh of relief as the guards allowed him to pass without so much as a second glance. They began talking about Varden attacks on supply wagons to the capital, and Murtagh frowned.

He had only caught a second of their conversation as he was swept away in the flood of farmers and traders departing the city, but it was enough to begin turning the wheels and cogs of his brain. He despised the king and everything he stood for, but that didn't mean he was opposed to the Empire as a whole. Murtagh firmly believed that if its leader could be scourged, the system would return to a state of purity and the land could be unified once more.

Unfortunately, that wasn't ever liable to happen. The Varden despised the king for his actions against the Riders, a sentiment which Murtagh echoed subconsciously. They would fight tooth and nail to overthrow the old tyrant, and replace him with a more egalitarian system. Murtagh had studied the nature of politics as a child and quite liked the sound of 'democracy', but wasn't sure if it were possible. The people would have to be educated beforehand, or the entire land would go to seed under the mismatched rule of feckless peasants and thieves.

No, until the people could be taught by an impartial ruler, things had to be this way. But that was a thought for another time. Now, he instead desired the downfall of Galbatorix, and had to think of a starting point. The Varden would be the reasonable option, but he knew they were wild people and didn't want anything to do with them, or their inherently radical ideals. They were idealists and he was a realist, two types of people who didn't mix well.

He shivered slightly and pulled his cloak closer. Winter was fading, as evidenced by the growth of new plants and weeds throughout the fields. The snow had mainly disappeared, although the north was probably still blanketed. The Sun was starting to rise just a little higher in the sky each day, but still the cold wind persisted. It breathed its frosty breath upon him, causing his fingers to go slightly numb.

Carefully, he allowed himself to break away from the chatter of the traders and spurred Tornac onwards, overtaking the people around him. They either didn't notice or didn't care, and he was soon able to put a mile between himself and the group. It wouldn't do well to put other people in danger. He would fight the king from afar, he realised suddenly. There were many ways to disrupt the Empire's movements, and that would do until he thought of a more permanent plan. Perhaps he could start his own group of followers, those devoted to the downfall of the king but not the system itself.

That was not currently practical, however, and he instead decided to aim for self-preservation first and foremost. He suddenly recalled the shuddering presence of those foul abominations in the king's court a few months ago.

_The Ra'zac_.

The king had sent them north, to find one of his three mysterious stones, the blue-coloured gem. Murtagh didn't know much about it, although he had glimpsed two others in the king's trophy room, a room he was never permitted to enter. He knew not how anyone could have stolen the precious artefact, nor where it had gone, but the king had been in unspeakable rage that day. He had killed half a dozen servants for simply daring to approach him as they were supposed to, and would have turned on Murtagh, had he not quickly escaped.

Whatever the stone was, Murtagh assumed it was of great importance to Galbatorix, so that would be his starting point. He nodded to himself, knowing what to do. He didn't yet know how, but he would travel to Dras-Leona, and destroy the Ra'zac. It would surely infuriate the king, but if he could get a hold of that mysterious stone during the act, which he admitted was unlikely, it would put him in a very strong bargaining position.

He hoped.

He hesitated as he reached the crossroad. He needed to go south, but taking that path would lead straight through the great plain and possibly take him close to Urû'baen. That was a risk he couldn't afford to take, so he instead continued westward, intending to reach one of the villages on the border of the Spine and then follow the mountains until he reached the Toark River. From there, Leona Lake would be the only thing between him and Dras-Leona.

Murtagh frowned as he saw someone approach him on the road. Not that that was uncommon at all – travellers were frequent in Alagaësia, moving between towns at will. No, the unusual thing was that this man had no horse, and appeared to have no pack or supplies with him.

Murtagh blinked and carefully moved Tornac forwards slowly. This man could be part of a trap, or else he was in desperate need of help. In any case, Murtagh couldn't stop for long. He would make his greetings, if hailed, and then continue on his merry way.

The stranger nodded as Murtagh approached. "Good day, sir," he said, grinding to a halt.

"Good day," Murtagh said neutrally, inclining his head. He moved to continue, but the man held up a hand slightly, stopping Tornac in his tracks.

Murtagh blinked again, inwardly considering his options. He slid off the horse, deciding he would knock the man away if necessary. His creed was paramount to survival.

"Can I help you, man?" Murtagh asked impassively, eyeing the stranger carefully. He couldn't have been any older than Murtagh himself, and his face was also framed with brown locks of hair. He stood tall and noble, surprisingly kempt even without provisions such as a horse. He wore a simple shirt and trousers, and bore a most disarming smile.

Murtagh instantly decided he couldn't be trusted. He reminded him of the king's expressions.

The man looked at him carefully, still smiling. His eyes seemed to bore into Murtagh's, but he was used to the king doing the same thing by now, and neither blinked nor looked away.

"Yes, you can. I'm afraid I'm in trouble, friend," he replied carefully, annunciating each syllable as a nobleman may do. "I could do with help, including spare provisions if you have any."

Murtagh shook his head, never blinking. "I'm afraid I can't do that. I only just left Gil'ead and have a long way to travel, so I have need of all my supplies. The city is about two miles in that direction," he said, pointing over his shoulder. "Maybe you'll find someone there who can help you."

The man growled irritably, and Murtagh's hand tightened around his hand-and-a-half sword, which was currently in its sheath. The man briefly glanced at it, and then sneered.

"If you think your little play toy can help you against me, you are sadly mistaken," he said with incredible snobbishness.

"You aren't even armed," Murtagh stated. "You couldn't handle me. This sword, maybe, but not when I'm the one who wields it. Walk away. Now. Before I decide to hurt you."

They stared at each other, and Murtagh guessed that the man was a careful thief. He would kill him if necessary, but preferred that it wasn't. The man removed his hand from Tornac and held it slowly by his side. Murtagh hoped he would see reason and almost relaxed, but that proved to be a mistake.

In a flash, he brought his fingers together and struck Murtagh directly below the centre of his collarbone, exerting great pressure. Gasping in agony, Murtagh, clutched at the spot below his neck, his sword almost forgotten. The man punched him below the eye and he fell to the ground. He quickly removed Murtagh's sword and stood away, admiring it briefly.

"This is a most pleasing weapon, even if it does belong to a filthy Muggle," he spat.

Murtagh made no reply, but struggled to regain his breath. He couldn't believe the force that one blow had gathered, and growled in frustration as he attempted to rise. The thief, however, was prepared for that, and Murtagh felt the point of his own sword prick his neck.

He froze and looked up.

"If you move, I will kill you," the thief declared, glinting evilly. Then he closed his eyes, and Murtagh felt a powerful force begin to batter his mind. Thankfully, he had been trained by the king himself, and his defences held strong. The thief was shocked at his strength, and continued to press forth with a fiery rage.

As well as mental training, however, Murtagh had been trained in preventing such things physically, and was able to open his eyes even as the thief continued to bombard his mind. He saw his face contorted into a mask of fury, and quickly withdrew the hidden dagger from his boot, which had been concealed by his legging.

The thief heard the unmistakable sound of metal being unsheathed, and his eyes flashed open in panic. Murtagh felt the mental attack cease, but didn't let up. Before the thief could raise Murtagh's sword in defence, he lunged forward and stabbed him between the ribs.

The thief let out a gasp of shock and pain, before Murtagh withdrew the dagger and he fell to the ground. He quickly sheathed it and took back his sword, then mounting Tornac and galloping furiously away. It wouldn't do to be caught in such a situation, and the traders hadn't been far behind. He spared not a glance for the dying thief as he spurred Tornac onwards, while slowly massaging his throbbing collarbone.

_My creed is my survival._

* * *

Harry felt a peculiar buzzing sound in his mind, but couldn't beat it away. It wasn't someone attempting to assault his mind; of that he knew. Riddle wasn't strong enough to employ Legilimency at such a long range, and Harry was certain he wasn't lurking in the shadows nearby. He rubbed at his temple absently, but the feeling persisted. Irritated, he delved inwards, trying to find the source of the commotion.

He felt a surge of shock as he did so, for a mysterious presence entered his mind. It hadn't been the mysterious Fírnen from earlier, and it wasn't any of his three companions. The truly unusual thing was that it bypassed his defences effortlessly, and also that it felt like..._ him._

Harry gasped quietly as an onslaught of thoughts and memories came to form inside his mind, and then did so again when he realised what was happening.

_Riddle must be dead_, he thought, feeling his heart lurching in excitement.

He almost laughed aloud as images of Ginny, Ron and Hermione sprung into being instantly, but merely contented himself with a smile several leagues wide. The bloody, snake-like fool must have gotten himself gutted by an outlaw or a soldier he had given lip to. Harry couldn't believe he hadn't considered such an eventuality previously. Riddle had also been in a strange land, and he had been without a wand. If Voldemort's impulses existed in his mind, which was doubtless, he would have been a cheeky bastard on more than one occasion.

It had obviously cost him.

Saphira extended her mind towards his as she felt his jubilation extend beyond the confines of his own body, and her thoughts registered both surprise and happiness as she felt what was happening.

"_I am glad for you, little one," _she said with evident joy.

"_So am I,"_ he replied happily. _"I thought that would last a lot longer than it did."_

She snorted as she shifted her position beside the fire across from him, understanding his words succinctly. _"That little insect was never going to last long; not when he acted as a mouse in a den of vipers._ _If the Sun had shone any more dimly upon him, it would have been pitch black. Besides, these things are not nearly so climatic as you humans seem to think." _

Harry grinned at her use of metaphors, and looked towards Brom and Eragon. Eragon's face was a picture of concentration, and his brow was sweating slightly as he magically held the pebble in the air once more. They had both grown much stronger in using the Ancient Language, and Eragon had taken to actually hunting with the pebble. He would cast it forcefully at any game he came across, and the blow would kill it almost instantly. Harry refrained from doing so, instead using his elevated senses to communicate more with nature.

Brom had shaken his head at that, stating irritably that survival was more important. But it had been two days since they had found the flask, and Harry showed no signs of letting up. It was impossible to lie when speaking the Ancient Language, and so he found the connection with the surrounding wildlife quite remarkable. He couldn't speak much yet, but even brief words of relaxation and calmness helped to earn their trust.

It was merely an interesting hobby, and he knew that it would be a part of his life from now on. He had guessed correctly that plants and animals also had their own minds, stipulating individuality, and had communicated quite easily. They bore no defences, but their alien minds felt unusual to his own, and it had taken some adjustment before he felt comfortable. Currently, he sat around the fire surrounded by birds and squirrels.

That is, until Saphira casually snapped at one of them, and the lot scurried and flew away quickly.

"_Okay, maybe I'm getting a little obsessed," _he admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. _"But it is fascinating, you have to admit. Imagine being able to call on nature to help you in a fight."_

Saphira blinked, and began to do something strange with her mouth. She was showing her rows of pointed teeth, but not threateningly. Eragon, who had just dropped the pebble before collapsing, spared her a glance.

"_What's up with you?" _he asked curiously.

"_Nothing,"_ she replied simply. _"But our friend here believes an army of squirrels and pigeons would be useful in a battle situation."_

Harry felt his face begin to burn as he realised she was laughing at him, and quickly smiled awkwardly. _"It was only a joke,"_ he said, not entirely truthful.

Eragon shook his head in mock disdain, smirking at him. Harry rolled his eyes in irritation and turned to Brom, who was lighting his pipe. They decided not to spar that evening, instead practicing magic.

"My memories have returned," he said aloud.

Brom froze in the act of adding the tobacco and looked at him carefully, as Eragon did the same thing.

"Are you certain?" Brom asked, taking the pipe out of his mouth.

Harry nodded. "I know you didn't see that thing, but it was real. It's dead now, though, and I have my memories back. I finally feel normal again."

Brom shrugged, but then narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean 'it's dead now'? How do you know it's dead, and not merely incapacitated or powerless? I thought you couldn't feel it?"

Harry hesitated. He hadn't told them about Fírnen, but it looked like now might be the time. He quickly summarised the conversation he had had with the mysterious presence, and Brom looked both thoughtful and concerned.

"That doesn't make sense," Eragon said confusedly. "I thought distance affected mental communication?" Indeed, he had found it difficult to talk with Saphira when she went hunting at times, and the bond they shared was much stronger than any normal one.

"I have no idea," Brom shrugged. "At the very least, it sounds like this 'Fírnen' helped you immensely, and that's something fortuitous."

Harry nodded in agreement, staring at the crackling flames. It was a few moments before he spoke again. "At least now I feel whole again, and I can focus."

"Can you... eh, disapparate?" Eragon asked suddenly, remembering the word and sitting up straighter.

Harry blinked, and immediately tried to disappear and reappear beside Saphira. To his unfathomable annoyance, nothing happened. He sighed in resignation and shook his head.

"Hmm... that is a powerful curse indeed," Brom said with interest, now happily puffing away. Clouds of smoke surrounded the camp, mostly lost in the darkness.

"I know," Harry replied with mild irritation. "I don't think I'll ever be able to break it... but," he continued, speaking louder and standing up, "we all knew that already, so I'm not too upset."

Saphira, who had been silent, suddenly raised her head and stared at him. Harry looked back, feeling apprehensive at the look she was giving him.

"Err... is everything all right?" he asked, measuring the question with utmost care.

She projected her thoughts for all three men to hear. _"I knew there was something strange about your mind... and now I know..." _she trailed off.

"What are you talking about?" Brom asked, eyeing her carefully.

She hesitated. _"This... presence is unusual, and it has made your mind feel very strange indeed. I have not felt the minds of many humans, but it is different to how I would imagine one is."_

"_How so?"_ Harry asked mentally.

"_It... feels like... it has been laced with another's mind," _she said quietly in their heads. _"But not a human mind..."_

"Well... what, then?" Harry asked out loud, feeling apprehensive.

She blinked, continuing to look into his soul itself. _"I thought your mind felt a little like mine... like the mind of a dragon_," she declared.

* * *

The forces of Alagaësia are mysterious indeed. Many believe in the power of the Sun and stars as wards against the darkness, whilst others worship them as evil and all-powerful gods. With regards to evil, an act caused by its most vile and degenerate form had occurred shortly before Saphira's shocking revelation.

His hair and eyes blood red, he bore upon his face a terrible expression of hatred and twisted malice. He stared down at the whelp before him, before rounding on the captain.

"This little insect is almost dead. Why should I care if he passes or not?"

The captain, Nyos, garbed in the traditional armour of the Empire, swallowed nervously. He eyed the Shade with a mixture of fear and determination.

"I... I am a magician, sir. I tried to read his mind to see what had happened, but found it blocked."

"So?" the Shade asked, growing bored.

"He's remarkably strong, sir. I... forgive me, my lord, but I think he is almost as strong as you are."

The Shade glared at the man, who gulped visibly, before staring down at the boy lying on the table. The captain had bypassed the healers and brought him straight to the Shade, covering the floor and furniture of his garrisoned office in blood. He had been stabbed between the ribs, and wouldn't survive long.

Shutting his eyes in concentration, the Shade extended his mind and gasped audibly. The boy's mind was _packed_ with energy, as though he had been storing it for many months. The captain hadn't been lying – he was almost as strong as the Shade himself. Almost, but not quite.

With a groan, the boy rolled over slightly, still unconscious.

The Shade's eyes snapped open. "Get out," he hissed. "All of you. Now!" he shouted, and they scurried out of the room, probably pissing themselves in fear. The Shade smirked and turned back to this incredible discovery.

He made a mental note to have the captain rewarded for his intelligence, and slowly extended the palm of his hand over the boy's head. It bore a red diamond inlaid upon a personal ring, once which he used for exactly this purpose.

"What... what are you doing?" the boy gasped defiantly, eyes flickering open. "I demand you release me at once."

The Shade smiled grotesquely. "You are full of precious light," he breathed. "And you are a threat to me. I cannot have that."

Then, he began to utter mysterious words Riddle had never before heard. He felt unusual, as though something were pressing upon his heart, and then felt something grip it firmly.

He screamed in pain as his heart and brain were twisted around from the inside-out, and howled in anguish as his mind began to fade. He felt himself choking on his own blood, as the Shade growled in satisfaction. The jump from the boy to his ring took the form of shadows merging together, the boy's soul and his evil spirits. His face contorted in pain and began to lose form as Durza laughed manically. His bones were crushed to dust, and his skin was laid open with a thousand bleeding wounds. He choked and spluttered, helpless. It felt like he was creating a Horcrux, but was going much too far.

Outside, Nyos and his men had shuddered and one even vomited at the sounds emanating from the Shade's room. Nyos knew what was happening, but never dared to make any inquiries. If the boy was really that powerful, the Shade would double in strength. He would doubly jeopardise any who dared cross him.

When he was recalled into the room, the body had vanished. Only a pool of blood remained.

* * *

Eragon stared in amazement at the sight before them. The city of Teirm was obscured behind a huge curtain wall, approximately one hundred feet high and thirty feet thick, if Eragon had to guess. He guessed that because groups of watchmen and archers strode across the top in even lines, casting watchful eyes of the influx of people below. The wall's smooth surface was riddled with arrow slits and divided only by two iron portcullises, one facing the sea on the west and one opened to the road on the south.

Brom had sung a tale of the sea for Eragon, who had never before seen its vast and magnificent form. Harry, who had, paid it little mind as they rode towards the city, but Eragon couldn't help glancing over every few seconds to examine the frothy and restless surface.

They hadn't spoken of Saphira's revelation, as Brom had merely scoffed and labelled it 'complete nonsense,' before rolling over and going to sleep. Harry had raised an eyebrow at Eragon, and the two had seen through the old man immediately. They didn't press the point home, however, or even talk about it with each other and Saphira. There would be time for that later, when they may have a better idea of what was going on. For now, they wordlessly agreed to press on, hoping Brom would speak to them eventually.

As they neared the massive city, Brom caught sight of a few guards and leaned in closely.

"This is our first test," he said. "Be careful."

Eragon nodded. "How big is this place?" he asked with awe.

Brom smiled. "Bigger than any place you have ever seen."

Harry blinked, examining the city closely. The only visible section above the walls was a huge citadel, undoubtedly the home of Teirm's Lord. In truth, he had never seen anything bigger either. Well, you could include London, which must have been bigger than Teirm, but a solid structure was debatable. The stadium of the Quidditch World Cup final had been huge, as had Hogwarts, but this was a packed city, and would probably hold a few of the stadia itself.

Harry focused as they approached the gates. Eragon quickly relayed a message to Saphira, telling her to be careful.

Her response had been simple: _"if you get into trouble I'll pin you to my back and never let you off." _

"Halt!" one of the guards exclaimed, holding up an armoured palm. The guards had been routinely questioning all incoming travellers, so they had needed a cover story. "What business have you in Teirm?"

"Wer here t' visit meh uncle," Harry said, adapting a thick and somewhat ridiculous accent.

"What's your name?" the guard asked, sounding bored now. Apparently he had better things to do than fraternise with the common peasants.

"I be Remus, son of Sirius."

"Remus Siriuson?" the guard asked incredulously. "Never heard of either name before."

"We're from far away," Brom said, dropping his voice into a thick, wheezy impersonation. Harry almost started at the face he was pulling – it made him look about twenty years older. Harry thought he probably should have had a better cover also. In a land like this the names Remus and Sirius were probably unusual enough to have him arrested.

"Oh, really? Where do you hail from, then?" the guard asked.

A thought of inspiration hit Eragon very suddenly. "We come from Yazuac. But it were burnt by those Urgals a wee while back."

Eragon, meanwhile, sounded so comical that Harry would have to laugh at him later. He neglected the speech impediment that Harry had used, but utilised ridiculous tenses and words that made no sense.

"We be there when it burn, geddit? We say: no more corn nor flock, but a life fit for sewers."

The guard stared at him impassively, before shaking his head in disbelief. He stood to the side and allowed them to pass, muttering "bloody foreigners" under his breath as they passed. He had obviously heard of Yazuac and what had happened, and so decided to let them pass.

Once they were safely through the gates and out of earshot, Brom rounded on them both. "You bloody fools. A child in a pantomime theatre wouldn't have believed either of you back there. I see you need training in the art of deception."

Eragon looked embarrassed. "We're not as accomplished as you are in fooling people."

"That... was roughly my point," Brom grumbled with sarcasm, lighting his pipe.

"So... what now?" Harry asked, as they watched the crowds of people moving to and fro. "You said your friend was a merchant in this city?"

Brom nodded. "Yes," he said, talking around the mouthful of smoke. "Jeod can help us... if he's still alive," he muttered, walking off.

Harry and Eragon quickly followed, both aware they were now firmly in enemy territory. For Eragon, this city was magnificent and he would want to explore its wonders, including the marketplace. For Harry, who was used to such feelings, it was the closest to suffocation and entrapment he had felt since Malfoy Manor. If they were to leave this place alive and unscathed, there would be a lot of work to be done.

"_First, we have to find the Ra'zac," _he told Eragon.

Eragon nodded, not looking around. He was determined.

With a loud clank, the gates behind them shut. Harry took a glance back, and saw the guards barring the wooden frame for the night. He sighed gently, wondering whether they would eventually have to break them down in order to escape.

Needless to say, he wasn't optimistic.

* * *

**A:N - Ah, Durza... one of my favourite villains of all time, simply because I think Robert Carlyle is awesome. **


	12. Chapter Twelve

**A:N - Yes, as many of you have guessed with your PMs, Riddle only ever existed as a character to make Durza more formidable. This is essential for the future plot (no spoilers here, I'm afraid!).**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve – Answers and Prophecies**

"This place looks ready for war," Eragon remarked, spying the fortified buildings and metal shutters across the windows. Similarly, many soldiers paraded to and fro, garbed in their armour and carrying their typical long-swords. A few in the front row of a unit marching held pikes and spears, whilst archers lined the rooftops and covered the curtain wall like bees in a hive.

Brom nodded sagely. "This city has a history of being raided by pirates. A few decades ago it wasn't quite as protected as it is today, and the people would be attacked nigh on every year. Some think it was one 'pirate king' behind the attacks, although no one was ever caught."

"It doesn't surprise me," Harry said. "If Teirm is the centre of trading, who knows how many riches are stored in these buildings?"

"Quite," Brom agreed, as they walked along the cobbled streets. The entire city was relatively filthy, but that was expected considering its close proximity to the ocean. Sailors would most likely crowd the nearby inns whilst on-break, and the mess that followed was to be expected. Worse still: rats were occasionally brought into the port by incoming sloops and fishing boats. They were rare, as any good merchant was want to remove all signs of disease or uncleanness from amongst their wares, but still existed nevertheless.

"The buildings get larger as they retreat into the centre," Eragon said, examining the structures with interest. "Is that a defensive measure of sorts?"

"It is," Brom said. "The citadel is the tallest building in the city, and those near the walls are the smallest. It helps with archers; lets them fire above their comrades."

"Sounds dangerous," Harry quipped. He carefully avoided the leftovers of a horse that had been standing there moments ago, grimacing as he did so. His boots were worn out after weeks on the road, but maybe _that_ was avoidable. Brom grinned as he caught a glimpse of his expression.

"You'll get used to that soon enough. And yes, it is dangerous, but not so much for any well-trained marksman. It's also a lot more practical as it allows for a better line of sight."

Harry guarded his countenance as a troupe of soldiers walked past them, looking for signs of trouble. He also saw that many of the houses appeared desolate, with creeper vines and other weeds obscuring the buildings. It half looked as though nature was attempting to reclaim the city.

"Both of you need to relax," Brom said. "Don't stiffen up every time soldiers go past, or they'll think you're up to something."

"_Which, to be fair, we are,"_ Harry thought.

"_I do not care if the whole world sees me – I'll burn that city to the ground if I have to keep the three of you safe,"_ Saphira declared.

"_Well, let's make sure that isn't necessary," _Eragon said casually.

They walked in silence until they reached a shabby-looking inn, its walls and door covered in grime and filth. The sign was battered and partially hanging-off, but the words were just about discernible.

"The Green Chestnut," Brom muttered. "Lovely-looking place..."

"This place is probably full of thieves," Harry cautioned, scrutinising the establishment dispassionately. He was certain that if Knockturn Alley had a local pub, it would look like this. "Are we sure this is a good idea?"

"Always head directly for the local inn," Brom said wisely. "If the innkeeper doesn't have any useful information, there'll certainly be some gossip from the other people inside."

Harry reflected on that knowledge as Brom swung the tavern's doors open. He went directly to the barman and asked him about Jeod, but the man demanded crowns beforehand. Harry let Brom do the talking and reached out with his mind, following Brom's earlier advice. He found the barman to be down on his luck in terms of sales, and the sailor at a table nearby mourning the loss of two fingers in a recent fight with pirates. Apart from that, most people were merely there for a daily pick-me-up, and by 'most' he figured only three or four. It was a very empty establishment.

Before Brom could pay the bartender his money, the sailor realised what was happening and told them he would let them know for free. Brom glowered at the innkeeper, before sweeping his money away and thanking the sailor. The bartender glowered at them all for a moment, before beginning to polish a broken glass he was holding.

"It's nothing," the sailor shrugged, waving a hand. "Name's Martin. These are troubled times, so no business is making as much coin as they would like to. You'll have to forgive Gareth."

Brom nodded. "Perfectly understandable. So, you know where to find Jeod?"

"Aye," Martin said. "His house is beside the herbalist's shop – Angela, I think her name was – on the western side of Teirm. But I tell you now: if it's selling you're here for, Jeod won't want to buy. He lost another ship a few days past."

"Why, what happened?" Brom asked, leaning closer, and speaking lower.

Martin shrugged. "What always happens, I reckon. Pirates, and other such scum. They board any ship they see, take all the gold they find, and have their way with any unlucky woman onboard. Then they slit everybody's throats, before scurrying back into their hole in the ground, covered in shit and filth," he spat distastefully.

Harry repressed a shudder. "You… you've seen this happen?" he asked slowly.

Martin nodded, his eyes haunted. "I was on a ship a while ago, heading to Surda. I'm not a sailor, but someone merchants hire to protect their wares."

"A mercenary?" Harry supplied, and Martin nodded.

"Aye, I guess you could call us that. Though I didn't do this one for gold. The merchant was an old friend of mine, and he lost everything, just like your friend Jeod. But, unlike everyone else," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, "he blamed the king. He said: 'Martin, they're doing this on purpose, trying to weed out any spies for the Varden. It won't be long before they break down my door and murder my entire family'.

"Now, Ress had nothing to do with the Varden, but that didn't stop him from worrying. He chartered a ship to take his family to Surda, where he has relatives. I was there to help protect him, and would have stayed with his family in the south. That is, until we were attacked."

He took a large mouthful of ale, looking bitter and sour. Martin, that was, and not the ale, although it didn't look too good either.

"I don't know where they came from. They had probably been lying in wait… but _four_ sloops came out of nowhere and each fired a broadside of ballista and arrows straight at us. The ship was peppered, and the crew had been decimated, so Ress did the only thing he could do: he ordered the captain to haul down the colours."

Harry was intrigued by Martin's story, but also slightly nervous about what might come next. As it transpired, his fears were not misplaced.

"Well," Martin continued, his eyes darkening, "that turned out to be a grave mistake. They boarded the ship and killed everyone onboard before you could blink, including Ress and his family. I only survived because I got hit by an arrow and fell into the water," he explained, holding his amputated fingers up. "I lost these two fingers to the cold before a passing fishing boat found me. They brought me back to Teirm, and I've been recovering here ever since."

The three companions were silent, shocked by the man's story. If he was right, then this was now commonplace and the king wasn't doing a thing to prevent it. Harry was right about Galbatorix not bothering with his own domain, but he simply couldn't understand why. He kept silent, though. It wouldn't be a good idea to blurt out an accusation against the sovereign ruler whilst in a city full of his trained soldiers. Martin didn't seem to agree.

"I wanted to help my friend at first, although I didn't believe him. Well… that's changed now," he declared.

"What do you mean?" Brom questioned curiously.

Martin downed the last of his drink and sat the mug back on the table with a dull thud. He scrutinised the three of them carefully.

"You lot seem like a decent sort, so I'll tell you something that I haven't told anyone else." He dropped his voice lowly once more: "I was the only survivor, so I'm the only one who knows this. Those men who attacked us? They weren't pirates. They wore the armour of the Empire, and they flew that bastard's insignia. They said it was 'justice'. Well, it was the justice of one thing only."

"And what was that?" Eragon asked quietly.

"Death," Martin said ominously.

* * *

They followed Martin's directions in silence, heading for the western section of Teirm. Eragon and Harry were greatly disturbed, Eragon more so. Yazuac had been bad enough, but for the king to order such atrocities… it was unthinkable.

Harry, meanwhile, found that he was disgusted, but not greatly surprised. This was 'Magic is Might' all over again, and Galbatorix was clearly even worse than Voldemort had been. Not only was he much, much more powerful in the arcane arts, but he also portrayed himself with an aura of trust towards the people, whilst secretly having accused (though not proven) traitors and their families murdered. And he had an army to acquire, one which Brom had mentioned as numbering around sixteen thousand.

No, if it had ever come to it, Harry knew that Galbatorix would have wiped the floor with Voldemort, whether one-on-one or in a sustained war scenario. Voldemort's only advantage would have been the Horcruxes, but surely Galbatorix had put a similar measure in-place. For the first time, Harry _truly_ began to think about the magnitude of what they were facing.

How the hell were they ever going to win? He had needed the aid of an ultra-powerful wand to destroy Voldemort, and now it was just the four of them against a much more potent enemy and his army? And that didn't even mention the fact that he probably had quite a few trained magicians under his command.

No, they desperately needed a long-term solution, and Harry could think of only one option.

"When we find somewhere quiet, I need to speak with you two," he muttered, as families returning from the markets walked past in random segments. Walking through the crowds was not easy, but Brom seemed to have some unnatural ability to part the people around him, so they simply followed his lead.

Eragon nodded, but Brom shook his head quickly.

"We can talk after I've spoken to Jeod," he said. "Perhaps tomorrow morning."

"This is important," Harry complained, deliberately sounding out with determination.

Brom glanced at him, but didn't say anything further. Harry sighed, thinking of how to broach the subject. It couldn't be done in the streets, for certain, so he would have to be silent for a while anyway. Instead, as they walked, he used to newfound interest in nature to feel the minds of the plants. He was right with his earlier assumption – plants and weeds were not only common in this city, but they also outnumbered the human population more than ten to one.

He was surprised, but then remembered that many of those were probably hidden in cracks along the ground, and understood. Plants had very unusual minds; they weren't sentient, as such, but they were alive, as everybody knew. Many didn't seem to like growing without their species around them, perhaps because others were opponents in the race for sunlight. They also didn't have barriers around their minds, and didn't seem to notice when somebody probed their being as animals would. Harry didn't know enough to truly speak to them in the Ancient Language, not that they could have responded in any case.

Instead, he studied their lifestyle, curious as to what motivated them to live. He found that it was fairly simple: the desires of all living creatures, such as respiration and reproduction. It would have been a very useful skill for Herbology, he reflected. There was probably too much to learn from plants and animals in a lifetime, and that only included discovered species.

He started as he almost walked into Eragon, who had stopped alongside Brom. They had reached a small shop, which sat in the middle of two fine-looking houses. Plants and mysterious artefacts adorned the windows and table outside, at which a mysterious looking woman was sitting. She sported dark curls, and looked relatively eccentric. She held a frog in one hand, and was using the other to write upon a piece of parchment. They correctly assumed it was Angela.

"I wonder which house is his? They both look very stately," Harry noted.

"Let's find out," Brom said. He approached the herbalist. "Excuse me, but could you please tell us which house Jeod lives in?"

"Yes, I could," she said, without looking up.

"Well… _will_ you tell us?" Harry asked, as she made no further response.

"Yes," she replied, continuing to write.

Harry was perplexed, and Eragon was about to blurt something out, before she looked up, smiling.

"Of course I'll tell you! Your first question was if I _could_ tell you and your second was if I _would_, but you never put the actual question to me," she explained.

Brom smiled at her wit. "Then let me ask you properly: which house does Jeod live in?"

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere! Yes, Jeod lives on the right," she motioned, as the frog gave a ribbet.

"Why do you have a frog?" Eragon asked with confusion.

"Actually, it's a toad, and my purpose is to try and prove that toads do not exist."

"But… you just said that it was a toad!" Eragon exclaimed. "And what's the use in that, anyway?"

"Yes, but if I find out that toads don't really exist, then it was actually a frog and never a toad. Understand? And it would help bad things from happening, because toads wouldn't be real and therefore couldn't make peoples' teeth fall out, cause warts or poison anybody!"

"It sounds very interesting," Brom said gently. "I'd love to hear more about it, but I'm afraid we have to go meet with Jeod. Thank you for your help."

"No problem," she said dismissively, returning to her work.

Once they were out of earshot and headed towards Jeod's home, Eragon decided to let his mind be known.

"She must be crazy!"

"Eccentric, at least," Harry chuckled, glancing back. "You know that toads don't really cause any of those things to happen? It's just a myth." He recalled hearing that in Care of Magical Creatures at one point, and thought that Angela's opinion was… _unusual_, to say the least.

They reached a wooden door upon a finely polished marble step. The wood was clean and made from teak, finely brushed and crafted so that it held a smooth surface. The house itself was modest, but grand when one considered the slums of Teirm they had just travelled through. Brom rapped three times with the wooden knocker, the sound emanating loudly. A dog barked in the distance.

No one answered, and Eragon felt exasperated. He didn't want to have come all this way for nothing.

"_So… how's your day going?"_ he asked Saphira.

"_Terrible. I've had nothing to do but hunt, and even that starts to look bleak when the game couldn't outrun a crippled mouse."_

Eragon snorted with laughter at that. Brom knocked again, and this time the door was opened by a slight crack. A youngish woman with light blonde hair and a pale complexion to match stood there, wearing a weary and slightly annoyed expression, as though she had just been disturbed. Nonetheless, she was polite enough.

"Yes?"

"Does Jeod live here?" Brom asked gently.

"Yes, he is my husband, but I'm afraid he's busy," she stated.

"It's very important that we meet with him. We have travelled far and long."

"He is busy," she said a little more sharply.

Brom's face hardened, but he remained courteous. "Could you please deliver a message? Tell him an old friend from Gil'ead is waiting to speak with him."

She looked as though she would refuse for a moment, but then nodded and shut the door. Eragon heard her footsteps and let out a sigh of mirth.

"That was polite," he said with sarcasm.

"Keep your opinions to yourself," Brom chastened. "If what Martin said is true about Jeod losing his ships, then it's obvious if they're under a _little_ stress."

Suddenly, the door was thrust open. A tall man stood there, garbed in fine cloth that was a little worn, a feature accentuated by his heavy face and greying hair. His eyes had bags under them and looked very sullen. It was clear that he _was_ under a lot of stress. Harry interestedly noted the scar on his forehead. It reminded him a little of his own, although it stretched across to his temple. He looked at Brom, and then blinked, as though his eyes had finally begun to fail.

"Brom…?" he whispered, mouth hanging partially open.

Brom quickly shushed him, before embracing him tightly as an old friend. "Don't use that name here. Call me Evan, and the boys Neal and Remus."

Jeod eyed Eragon and Harry carefully, his eyes lingering over Harry's glasses. He obviously thought they were peculiar, and Harry was quite surprised that he was the first person to have noticed. Maybe other people thought they were a pair of monocles, but Jeod didn't, being a former scholar. Harry nodded in greeting, and Jeod returned the gesture. He repeated it with Eragon.

"I thought you were dead," he said quietly, returning his gaze to Brom.

"I'll explain everything," Brom reassured, "but not here. Do you have someplace we can talk?"

Jeod hesitated, before nodding. "I do. I just need to fetch my key, and we can go. Give me a moment, if you would."

"Very well," Brom said, and Jeod disappeared inside. "Both of you let me do the talking, got it?"

Harry wasn't happy with that, but agreed without hesitance. He would need Brom to be in a good mood for his plan to work. Jeod quickly returned, this time with a rapier at his side, and shut the door behind him. Wordlessly, he led them through Teirm once more, this time towards the citadel. Harry followed, whilst Eragon led the horses behind them, as he had been doing so far.

There was a noticeable increase in finery as they got nearer to the centre of the city, with rich-looking merchants and tradesmen everywhere to be seen. Fine stores and trading caravans lined the streets, whilst the number of beggars descended rapidly as they passed over the slums. Eventually, Jeod brought them to the castle's doors, and led them inside after the horses had been tethered safely near the entrance.

"The walls are thick in the citadel," Jeod explained. "And the Lord of Teirm has decreed all businessmen must conduct official work here, in an effort to stop people avoiding taxes. That makes it a perfect place to be undisturbed."

He led them down a slender hallway, the walls dimly lit by torches and covered in slime. Eragon shivered nearby Harry, who could also feel the coldness. It was a bare place, but that might be beneficial for secret meetings. Jeod stopped at an old, wooden door. He unlocked it and ushered them inside.

"You, old man, have some explaining to do," he declared, shutting the door.

His office was a comfortable room, filled with bookshelves, scrolls and centred by an ornately decorated wooden desk. The chairs rested on top of a bearskin rug, and were laden with fur for long periods of sitting.

Brom took one of the seats and grinned. "Who are you calling 'old', you jumped-up little shit? The last time I saw you, your hair had a little grey, but now it looks like you're in the final stages of decomposition."

Jeod chuckled, taking the seat at his desk. Harry and Eragon, still silent, sat beside Brom, watching the exchange with interest.

"It's true, and you look exactly the same as you did all those years ago. I guess time has preserved both your body and your wisdom. Anyway, like I said, you have some explaining to do. Telling stories was always something you were good at."

Brom inclined his head and began to blow out smoke rings. Harry, who was now used to the old man's habits, chose not to cough, even though he wanted to. He also decided not to read Jeod's mind, instead deciding to let Brom take care of things.

"Do you remember what we were doing in Gil'ead?" Brom began.

"Aye, that sort of thing is hard to forget," Jeod quipped.

"An understatement, but no matter. You… err… remember how we were separated?" he asked, casting a glance at Eragon and Harry, who inwardly fumed. Brom's countenance told him everything already, and that was _nothing._ Brom was going to keep his secrets, even if they were too important to be ignored. He bit his tongue in an effort to prevent his temper from flaring.

"Well, in the turmoil, I found a large room filled with boxes and crates. Fortune truly smiled upon me that day, my friend, because I found _it._ What we were searching for."

Jeod looked shocked, as evidenced by his eyes bulging.

"Well, in that moment I knew all would be lost if I was captured, so I couldn't wait for you. I hid myself and fled the city, running to the… to our friends. They put it in a vault and told me to care for whoever received it. Until that day when my skills would be needed, I had to hide, so I chose to go north, and wound up in Carvahall, on the other side of the Spine," Brom explained.

Harry smiled to himself. Others might be confused by Brom's vagueness, but he wasn't. He was too accomplished at seeing through people, and knew rightly what he spoke of. He didn't know how he had done it, nor why he hadn't told them before, but he had somehow stolen Saphira's egg. It was the only thing that made sense, considering his very particular set of 'skills'.

"Then… our friends knew you were alive all along?" Jeod asked with curiosity.

Brom nodded, and he sighed, looking downcast. "Well, I suppose the ruse was necessary, but I wish they could have told me, especially as I risked my life trying to find the damned thing."

Brom shrugged. "I am sorry, my friend, but at least you know now. Better late than never."

"True, there is that… but, forgive me, why have you come here?" He gave both boys a quick glance. "Are you fulfilling your duty?"

"Not exactly. Eragon's uncle was murdered by the Ra'zac, and I wanted to help these two kill them. We happened to be travelling in the same direction."

"I see," Jeod said lowly, leading to a brief silence.

Brom produced a small, knotted bag and gave it to Harry. "Can both of you go and check on the horses for me? I forgot to feed them before coming in. This is all boring political stuff anyway."

Harry rolled his eyes at Eragon, who made an equally sardonic expression by screwing up one side of his mouth. Silently, they departed the room, Eragon slamming the door behind them. Harry was half-tempted to run back in and start demanding answers, but decided to wait. It would be better if Jeod wasn't around when he did.

"Unbelievable," Eragon scoffed, shaking his head. "They're going to be talking about all sorts of secret things now."

"I know," Harry nodded solemnly. "Still… we can always spy on them."

Eragon grinned, his eyes twinkling. They reached the outside once more, quickly feeding the horses, before staring at the wall, arms crossed in determination.

"I've got an idea," Eragon said. "Brom taught us how to enhance our hearing, remember? It mightn't work that well because of the thick walls, but it must be worth a try."

Harry nodded, remembering. He reached for his new source of power and uttered: "Thverr stenr un atra eka hórna!" Beside him, Eragon did the same. He felt disappointed when nothing happened at first, but then exchanged a grin with his friend when two voices could be clearly heard. Quickly, they sat down on a stone bench beside the wall, wordlessly checking for guards. There were none.

"…and I've been doing that for about eight years now," came Jeod's voice.

"I never expected you to become a merchant," Brom admitted. "After all the work you did for Ajihad, and finding the passageways in that manner! Why did you take up trading?"

"I didn't have much taste for musty scrolls and tiny rooms after Gil'ead. My father was a merchant, remember? He helped to get me started. But I've never stopped helping. Most of my work is a front to get goods into Surda, and from there they're taken to Tronjheim."

"I see… and how has that been going?"

"Badly, to say the least. Most of the convoys are ambushed, and the men murdered. That ship I lost two days ago was the last I owned," he said bitterly. "Every man onboard was brave and loyal, but I doubt I'll ever see them again. A good number of merchants have decided to flee as well, but none get very far."

"Yes, we met a mercenary who was working for one," Brom informed him. "He said the ship was attacked and the crew massacred, including the merchant and his family."

Harry assumed that Jeod was now shaking his head sadly. "I wish I knew what was happening… no, don't give me that look, I implore you. I know exactly what you're thinking. If there _is_ a traitor with that amount of power and knowledge, we're in deep trouble…"

"It's the only thing that makes sense, Jeod. These ambushes and murders have been too well coordinated. Sure, a lot of people killed are innocent, but quite a few are still working for the Varden, am I right?" Brom asked.

"Yes… and that's what worries me. Maybe you should back to Tronjheim. Ajihad could do with your help."

"And take Eragon and Saphira with me?" Brom asked incredulously. "No, it's the worst place they could be right now. Everyone will try to influence them, especially the dwarves and Islanzadi. And Harry… _that _boy's story would fill several books, I wager. He has power and would be a great tool for any of the higher-ups if he could be manipulated. I doubt he could be easily, but it's not a risk I'm willing to take. No, I won't take them there for a few months, or maybe even a year. Ajihad will have to manage without me."

"They will still be in need of your wisdom," Jeod commented.

"Wisdom," Brom snorted. "I'm just what you said: an old man, past his expiry date."

"There are many who would disagree."

"Let them. I have no need to explain myself. Still, the prospect of a traitor is deeply unsettling… do you have a messenger you can trust? I need to send word to Ajihad."

"Yes, but where would he be going?"

"Hmm… I don't want to risk any contacts who may have died… could you send him to whoever receives your shipments?"

"It would be risky, but I think I could talk him into it."

"I'll take that as a yes," Brom said shortly. "Here, give him my ring. It can serve as proof the message comes from me. And make sure to tell him I'll personally strangle him with his entrails if he loses that. It was given to me by the queen."

"Aren't you cheery," Jeod muttered.

After a brief silence, Brom said: "Damn it, where have those two got to now? We'd better go out and find them. They have a spectacular affinity for attracting trouble, and I can't say I'm surprised…"

There was a scraping of chairs, and they released the magic. Harry and Eragon stared at each other.

"What, in the blazes, was that all about?" Eragon asked. "He mentioned a queen, but there are none in Alagaёsia! And what's he playing at, telling Jeod about Saphira? He shouldn't have done that without asking me!"

Harry shook his head, feeling very agitated. "I have no idea, but I'm going to find out. I'm sick of being lied to."

Eragon nodded in agreement.

As soon as Brom stepped outside, Harry rounded on him, not giving the old man a chance to speak.

"We need to talk with you. Now."

Jeod raised an eyebrow at him, but Brom shrugged. "Fine, we can talk while eating."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "No people. Just the three of us, and Saphira."

Brom narrowed his eyes a little. "Are you really that stupid? Don't use that name!"

"Why? There's no one here, and you've already told Jeod," Harry declared.

Both men stared at him flatly.

"You spied on us," Brom said disapprovingly.

Harry shrugged. "Don't say you didn't see it coming. You have your secrets, but if they affect us we'll spy if we bloody well please. Since we're already talking, why don't you begin by telling us how you stole the egg?"

Eragon turned to look at him. "He never mentioned _that_."

"You're too clever for your own good," Brom stated, before reluctantly adding: "but, I suppose if you weren't I wouldn't be very interested in you as a person. Fine. Jeod, this will probably take a while. We'll return to your house later, if we may."

Jeod nodded. "That's fine. Just knock on the door and the butler will see you in."

And he left.

Brom eyed Harry coldly, before stalking off. Eragon followed him, sharing one brief glance with Harry. Before too long, they had reached the gates of Teirm, doing so without speaking. Eragon quickly located Saphira, on top of a rock formation away from the city a bit. The rocks were out of sight from any passers-by or watchmen on thee city walls, and offered quite a nice view of the nearby sea. Saphira flew down to meet them when they stopped walking.

"Okay, first thing's first," Brom demanded, spinning around, "you had better get this straight in your head, boy: whatever I chose not to tell you two was for your own good. You aren't ready for the knowledge. But since you've left me with no choice, it doesn't really matter anymore, does it?"

Harry shrugged, and sat down against the rock. Brom imitated his gesture sarcastically, before withdrawing his pipe and sitting on a small rock nearby. Eragon chose to sit propped up against Saphira, who was eyeing the proceedings with interest.

"So, this is your _intervention_," Brom spat. "What would you like to know first?"

"I would like to know if you're going to lie to us," Harry said, arms folded.

Brom glared at him, before speaking a phrase in the Ancient Language.

"There. Now it's impossible for me to lie to you."

Harry nodded, satisfied. "Good. Tell us about the Varden."

Brom shrugged. "There isn't much to tell. I was, and technically still am, one of their agents. I stole the egg many years ago with Jeod's help, and after much fuss, was able to deliver it safely to their hidden base."

"Which is where?" Eragon asked.

"Tronjheim. It's a city hidden under the Beor Mountains."

Harry blinked. "I'm sorry, did you say _city_ hidden under the mountains?"

Brom scoffed. "Is your hearing going as bad as your eyesight, boy?"

"That's a cheap shot, old man. At least I'm honest with the people who trust me."

Brom's face hardened, but he chose to ignore that comment, thankfully. Eragon didn't want a fight to erupt between the two. Behind him, Saphira, her mind open to the three of them, nestled her head on the ground, snaked around Eragon's legs. She said nothing.

"Who was the queen you spoke of, and why did you tell Jeod about Saphira?" Eragon asked.

"That's straightforward," Brom shrugged. "The queen is Queen Islanzadi of the Elves, and I told Jeod because he already knew about the egg. He's my oldest friend, and he can be trusted impeccably. He's saved both my skin and that of the Varden on a dozen occasions."

"Are these 'elves' hidden too?" Harry asked with interest. He mentally tried to shrug-off any images of house elves. Obviously these were more akin to the Elves heard about in Muggle fairytales and stories.

"Yes," Brom nodded. "They are hidden in Du Weldenvarden, the great forest to the north. Where exactly I cannot tell you, because only elves can reach the locations, and their magical wards are powerful. They prevent me from speaking in case of interrogation."

"Fair enough," Harry said, sitting up straighter. "I remember a few weeks ago, you said there was knowledge you're keeping hidden from us. You began to speak of it, but then kept it hidden. What was it, exactly?"

Eragon shifted his gaze back to Brom, watching closely. He let Harry do most of the questioning, as he had obviously been planning this out for quite a while.

Brom sighed. "I feared you would ask me that. Fine, I'll tell you, not that I have any choice now…" he muttered. "Do you want the long version or short?"

"Don't skive on the details," Harry warned. "We want to know everything."

Eragon agreed with him. "If it means our lives, we can't afford to not know."

"And that's precisely the problem," Brom said dramatically, pointing his pipe at Eragon. "It concerns _you_ intimately. And Saphira. There's a full-blown war approaching, and you can't even begin to comprehend the enormity of what it is you'll be facing. The king doesn't want to destroy you, which is why the Ra'zac didn't try to kill you on-sight. No, if he had wanted that, magicians would be running us into the ground as we speak.

"The king wants to control the next generation of Riders, and you are the beginning of that era. He wants to rebuild the Order into his own, twisted manifestation, and wipe away all vestiges of existence that disagrees with him."

"That would be the Varden, the elves and the dwarves?" Harry listed.

"Precisely," Brom nodded. "They are all allied against Galbatorix, but he could crush them without blinking if he had a group of Riders under his control."

"That doesn't make sense," Eragon said, shaking his head. "I thought Saphira was the last known dragon in the world, besides the king's?"

"No, she's not," Harry said quietly. "There are more, aren't there?"

Eragon gaped at Brom, absolutely astounded when he nodded.

"There were three eggs for us to steal, but we only managed to find one of them. The other two are locked in Urû'Baen, where we may never see them again."

"You managed to steal one before," Harry pointed out.

Brom almost dropped his pipe, spluttering as he did so. "You can't be serious. I stole one when it was hidden in Gil'ead before being delivered to the king. Never in a million years could I steal _two_ when they reside in his personal fortress. He probably has all kinds of magical traps around the treasure room, and that's not including him or his bloody dragon themselves. No. There's no chance that you could attempt such a feat and survive. It would be suicide."

Harry sighed, disappointed. He had suspected Brom would say as much, although it wouldn't stop him from trying to figure out a potential heist plan for the future sometime. They were severely outnumbered and outgunned. Another two Riders would give them the advantage.

"_I can't believe it…" _Saphira whispered. _"Two of my brothers and sisters still live!"_

Eragon felt her literally quivering with excitement, and smiled as her happiness intoxicated his mind.

"Why didn't you tell us about this before?" Eragon asked, instead sounding quite upset. "I thought we all trusted each other."

"I trust you both with my life," Brom said sincerely. "But, I stand by my opinion that you weren't ready for the information. I still don't think you are. I'm only telling you now because I fear you'll try to run away if I don't."

"Oh, I doubt we'd be that rash," Harry said with amusement. "I trust you as well, like I told you in Carvahall. I value your training and your wisdom. You've helped us to stay alive. I just don't like being kept in the dark. I had a bad time with that a while ago…"

"Hmm… well, you're not anymore," Brom grumbled. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

"How are we supposed to live in peace when the Varden and the Empire want to control us like puppets?" Eragon demanded angrily. "It's infuriating. I left Carvahall to avenge my uncle, and now I could be caught up in a full-blown war? Madness…"

"This isn't about you," Brom snapped. "It's a lot bigger than that. There are almost three million people living in both this land and Surda together, and not one of them will be safe if that black-hearted bastard gets what he wants. He has to be stopped. It's why the Varden was formed in the first place. They knew the risks and the stakes, and still they fought. They fight to this day! You are a Rider, Eragon. You have to be willing to make sacrifices. Garrow's loss was a terrible burden you should not have to bear, but he is one of many casualties in this never-ending conflict."

"Brom's right," Harry said quietly. "We knew this would happen sooner or later. Join the king, or fight against him. There is no other option." Inside his head, he decided not to ask about his previous _solution_, which had been whether they would actually join the Varden. Brom's words regarding manipulation had put him off the idea temporarily.

"There might be for you," Eragon stated. "You could find a way to go home again."

Harry clicked his tongue. "I'm never going home again, Eragon. I'm here until the bitter end, and I won't stand back and let some snake-faced menace terrorise innocent people. I made a vow to that little girl in Yazuac, and I intend to keep it. As far as I can see, both the king and the Urgals are responsible.

"Actually," he said suddenly, a thought springing to mind, "tell me about the curse afflicting me. How _do_ I break it?"

"I have no idea," Brom said honestly, shrugging. "I would have told you long ago if I knew the answer. I can only guess that dark wizard you spoke of inlaid the spell that brought you here with a powerful ward, and now you can't… err…"

"Disapparate," Harry helped.

"Yes… that. I have no idea how to break it, although I was hoping it would be possible if your mind healed itself again."

"Yeah, it hasn't, though… and about that; did you honestly not see that _thing_ when it came out of me? I mean… I was hardly faking an illness. It was like a damned seizure," Harry exclaimed.

Brom shrugged, blowing rings of smoke from his mouth. "Like I said: I trust you both. If you say it was real, then I believe you. In any case, it's gone, and your mind is back to normal."

"…Fírnen…"

"I beg your pardon?" Brom asked politely.

"Do you have any idea who this 'Fírnen' is?" Harry asked clearly. "We decided not to question you a few nights ago, but now is a better time than any."

Brom spread his arms. "None. I know you and Saphira think it is a dragon, but eggs can't communicate like those who have hatched, and I've never heard of any grown dragon named 'Fírnen' before. The eggs wouldn't even know how to speak. You had to train Saphira, did you not?"

Eragon nodded as Brom looked towards him. "Yes. It took quite a while, but it was worth it," he said, resting a hand on her forehead gently. She hummed in response.

"I just don't see what else it could be," Harry said uncertainly. "Stranger things have happened."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Well… the fact that I was transported to this land in the first place. Eragon finding Saphira's egg right beside me – _that_ was some coincidence… my apparition being blocked… being able to _talk_ with plants and animals… Riddle… elves and dwarves…"

"Alright, I get your point," Brom interrupted, waving a hand in annoyance. "Yes, it is highly improbable, but it may be possible, although I doubt it. Dragons are known to make mysterious things happen, even if they can't control magic at will. Except for breathing fire, of course."

"Yes, when will Saphira learn how to do that?" Eragon interjected.

"Not for quite a while. She's too young to sustain a flame. Most dragons can't do it until they're about a year old."

"That leads me to one final question," Harry said, holding a finger up. "How do you know so much about dragons and magic?"

Brom hesitated, before shrugging his shoulders. "I spent a lot of time studying dragons and magic when I was younger, although I won't get into my youth just now. I've chosen to make it more academic in my later years, although I can still use magic, of course."

After a few moments of silence, Eragon pointed out how low the Sun was getting. He quickly gave Saphira a hug, and the three of them hurried back into Teirm just before the gates were shut. Eragon stifled a yawn, and Harry felt his eyes getting wearier. To their surprise, Brom headed in the direction of a nearby pub, thankfully not the Green Chestnut. He told them that he was now in the mood for a stiff drink, something which Harry briefly agreed with.

The tavern was loud and boisterous, filled with peoples of all ages and backgrounds. Every table was filled, save one beside the wall. They hurried to claim it, and Brom gave the bartender their food orders. A short while later, a large plate of venison and sweet vegetables arrived, accompanied by honey-coated mead in four large tankards. Harry felt his mouth watering just by looking at the food, and Eragon's stomach rumbled loudly.

Brom laughed at them, seemingly in a better mood. "Well, don't just stare at it! Eat, before the meat goes cold."

They rapidly complied.

* * *

After the food was demolished, they each ordered another round of drinks, and relaxed at the table, enjoying the music that was being played for entertainment. They watched amusedly as several men rose to their feet, clearly drunk, and began to dance together. Harry winced as one of them groped the serving girl's backside, and was slapped loudly.

Rather than be deterred, however, he merely roared with laughter and downed another two pints in quick succession. Harry was impressed with his vigour, until he fell headfirst into the table and it broke in half.

Eragon snickered; he felt slightly intoxicated and giddy himself. He used magic to sober himself up, and leaned forward a little. Now was as good a time as any to speak of something that had been occupying his mind recently. Brom seemed to have relaxed again, and Harry appeared to be content with the answers he had been given.

"I've been thinking..." he began quietly, attracting the attention of Brom and Harry. Around them more sailors and a few guards were laughing merrily, smoking and drinking ale at every table in the inn as the drunken man was physically thrown outside. The fire had been lit again, and was now burning brightly for all to feel.

"If this is about... _her_... then don't say a word," Brom ordered, taking a drink of ale. Harry imitated him, feeling relaxed by the cool beverage.

"No, it isn't," Eragon replied, shaking his head. "It's about... well... _Harry._ How you came here, that is."

Harry's interest was captured. "Oh?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "What do you think?"

"What if... just hear me out... what if the gods themselves brought you here to help," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "to overthrow the king?"

Harry scoffed and shook his head in disdain. He didn't want to be insulting, but nor did he entertain such a notion.

"You don't think it's possible?" Eragon asked neutrally.

Harry shook his head, slowly. "No," he said. "No, I don't believe in any 'gods'."

Eragon was surprised. "Really? There are many gods. Surely you believe in at least one."

"I believe in reality," Harry shrugged. "In what I can see and do. True, most of the people in my land don't believe in magic either, but at least we're there to prove them wrong."

"But... there may be others who can prove _you_ wrong about... some higher force," Eragon said with confidence. "If you can preside yourself above others, maybe there are some who could do the same to you."

"I don't _preside_ myself above anyone," Harry interjected. "I hate people who are so elitist. Some people like the idea of religion, and that's fine with me. Let them believe. Just because I don't doesn't mean I don't respect other opinions. All I know is that I've seen and performed magic, and others haven't. I have _never_ seen evidence of any 'god'. I didn't believe in magic, either, until a half-giant gave my cousin a pig's tail on my eleventh birthday."

Brom chuckled warmly at that.

Eragon shrugged. "Wouldn't you say miracles occur everyday? Like me finding... you know."

"And like your uncle being brutally tortured?" Harry asked, perhaps a little too sharply. "Eragon, I lost my entire family to a ruthless bastard who tried to _become_ a god and rule over everybody. I've seen evil men and women who have great power, and no one to keep them in check. Just like the king, they cause havoc and destroy everything in their way, and anyone who stands against them is killed. Brutality and power are truth, not miracles. Magic transported... _it_... to you, and that was obviously the result of something else, _someone_, pulling the strings."

"Except you," Eragon pointed out. "Something has protected you from death, I think. You've told me stories, and it seems you've survived for a reason." He didn't mention Harry's remark about Garrow – it had stung, but he had expected it.

Harry hesitated. He hadn't spoken of this before. Any time Riddle had come up, he had merely veered around the subject. "Actually, I did almost die. I was hit with a killing curse for a second time without anyone to protect me, and would have died if Voldemort's soul hadn't gotten in the way. Riddle was created as a result, so it was hardly a miracle." He took a drink of ale, thinking this would get out of hand fast if he wasn't careful. He hadn't quarrelled with his friend before, and had no desire to start now.

Brom, who was now puffing away merrily at his pipe again, chose that moment to intervene. Until now he had been scrutinising their debate with interest. "Forgive me, but a god-loving man may take that as proof of a higher power protecting you."

"No... it was the power of magic and foolishness combined. I expected to die, but Voldemort made a grave error." He smiled; "well, there was _one_ old man who knew what would happen. He just wasn't a god."

There was a brief silence.

"I just think religious people can do a lot of good if they try to," Eragon said quietly.

Harry reminded himself that Eragon was only fifteen. He was obviously confused about matters of faith, so maybe he shouldn't be so harsh.

"They can," Harry agreed, nodding. "Many do in my home... but many don't. Countless wars have been fought over religion where I come from, and millions have died. Yes, _millions_," he repeated, catching their astounded expressions. "Think of Yazuac."

Eragon shuddered, recalling the massacred village.

"That was just a sample of what happens everyday in my land, and much of it is about religion. If the gods are real, they just don't give a damn about ordinary people," he said with some venom.

Brom shrugged, deciding to test his resolve again. "Maybe they want people to find their own way. To help each other. Many would say faith is necessary, or the gods needn't bother helping you."

"We're talking about _children_ here," Harry emphasised. "How the hell could any reasonable person or _god_, if they exist, let innocent children suffer? Children who are too young to comprehend the idea of faith? Do you know how widespread famine and disease are where I come from?" he asked rhetorically.

"It must be bad," Brom said softly, catching his expression.

"Five seconds," Harry said bluntly, citing a Muggle report he had read shortly before his mission to Japan. "A child dies _every five seconds_ from hunger. No, I'm being serious."

Eragon had opened his mouth to argue, but now he shut it again. Harry wouldn't lie about something like that. He was very confused. The people of Carvahall had always performed rituals to help ward off evil spirits, although they didn't worship one particular god. There were so many that at least one had to be real. He just knew it.

Repeating that point out loud, he said: "maybe there's one true god, or a few, just quietly hoping people will start to worship them again, and are powerless until they do. Who want to help, but just can't until that happens."

"Maybe," Harry said disbelievingly. "I would love for that to be true. Really. But so many people claim to worship 'the one true god' that nobody knows what to believe anymore. A lot of fanatics say their god will 'strike down' anyone who doesn't believe in them. But that isn't true. Gods don't kill people. People with gods kill people. And I refuse to believe in someone who endorses violence against innocents."

Harry took another drink. This talking was making his throat go dry. He had never spoken about religion before in such detail. The Dursleys had never been religious people, and it wasn't a subject endorsed at Hogwarts. The students and professors tended to get very testy when it came to discussing the Dark Ages, and everyone had despised religion as a result, even the vast majority of Muggleborns. Harry was one of them, remembering how his hated relatives had called him a 'freak.'

"Obviously most religions don't like violence. They abhor it. But a few hundred years ago, I could have burnt at the stake just for saying what I'm saying now. For giving my opinion. Religious people even hunted magicians in my land like animals until we were forced into hiding, so it's normal for witches and wizards to _not _believe in gods."

"What do you think?" Eragon asked Brom, hoping for some support.

He shook his head quickly, blowing a ring of smoke across the table. "I've never been a man for religion, boy. I agree it would be good if the gods _did_ turn out to be real and decided to help people, but they don't. Maybe they are real, but we haven't seen them." He chuckled slightly. "For me, they either don't exist or just stay out of my way, so I do the same."

Harry raised his tankard to that and inclined his head, before downing the remainder of ale. He felt pleasantly light-headed, and decided not to have anymore. He sat it back on the table. Brom had obviously just been testing his opinion without revealing his own earlier, he realised.

"Look," he said reassuringly, "people have to make their own mind up, and respect others too. We try not to intrude upon other people, because it's only fair. We have our beliefs, and you'll find your own eventually."

"Don't forget how much you have to see of the world," Brom said, to Harry as well as Eragon. "Young people like you two have opinions thrust upon you because of all the terrible things that have happened in your lives, but both of you could see or find something that changes your mind completely. The world is a big place."

"Bigger, if you include mine," Harry chuckled half-heartedly.

Brom shrugged. "Indeed… in any case, it's late," he said suddenly. "We should be off before Jeod locks his door."

They soon returned to Jeod's home in silence, where they found him looking quite miserable. Harry felt sympathy for the old merchant, knowing he clearly had a difficult marriage. He didn't say anything, but merely nodded and retreated to his bed, the butler directing him at Jeod's instruction.

Eragon lay awake for a good while in his own room, staring at the ceiling. Their conversation had troubled him, and he mentally berated himself for bringing it up in the first place. Now he had a moral dilemma, although he didn't quite comprehend why. He had always believed that there was _something_ more powerful out there, and his companions' beliefs were so very alien that they disturbed him. On the one hand, belief in another being was comforting, but his 'other half' disagreed.

"_Harry is right, little one. Peace is a wonderful idea, but religions cause more harm than good."_

"_How can you know that?" _he asked testily. _"You know less about religions than I do." _

She was silent for a moment. _"I know humans. I know what drives you, and there is much that is bad. I know because I can put together argument with reason, and have done so with Harry's opinion and your hopes. Besides, why should I believe there is something more glorious than a daughter of the sky?"_

Eragon couldn't answer that, and didn't try to either. He didn't know why anybody should believe in anything on merely his word. Instead he decided to ask a more personal question.

"_If I don't have faith, what do I have?"_

"_You have me, little one,_" she replied gently and caringly. _"You may have your own family someday, you have friends, and you have me above them all. I am a part of you, and I will always love you. You don't need faith in a god or other nonsense when I'm here to help you instead."_

He smiled as she passed her serenity across their mental link, enveloping him in peace and calmness. He stopped worrying on count of their bond. She was right. Some people had religion to comfort them, and unfortunately nothing else. He had always thought that way too, but now he was lucky enough to have Saphira instead. And he knew for a fact she was real. She would always be there for him, and he would do the same. At this moment, they were more like one soul than two. He doubted anyone could be so close, even the most intimate of lovers.

"_I love you too_," he said quietly, and her happiness was elevated. Locked in the gentle embrace of her mind, he found sleep soothing and easy, and worried no more about religion or the gods for a long while.

* * *

When Harry awoke the next day, he yawned widely and stretched vigorously, feeling greatly rested for the first time in many weeks. Without thinking, he dropped to his stomach and began to do fifty push-ups, something he had sworn to begin last night. He was in the form of his life, courtesy of training everyday in sword-fighting and the work-outs in Carvahall previous to that, as well as the work on Eragon's farm, but he still wished to improve upon his physique.

After he reached fifty, he switched to his back and began to do sit-ups, feeling just a little sweat beginning to appear on his brow. After a minute he rose to his feet and washed with the basin the butler had left for him, cleaning his face and torso thoroughly. When he looked quite presentable (apart from his hair, of course), he cast a cleaning charm on the shirt and trousers he had accidentally fallen asleep in, leaving them sparkling.

He grimaced, knowing it wouldn't last long. Eragon was waiting in the parlour when he arrived downstairs, also looking clean and refreshed.

"Morning," he said cheerfully.

"Morning," Harry responded. "Sleep well?"

"Haven't slept better in months. It's good to have a proper bed again. You?"

Harry nodded, looking better off than he had been for quite a while. Sleeping rough every night could make your temper short, as they had discovered quite frequently. Hopefully he was returning to normal once more.

"Brom and Jeod have left for the day to search through the shipping records," Eragon informed him, finishing off the last of his oatmeal. Harry graciously accepted a bowl from the butler with thanks, and sat down next to him.

When he was finished, Eragon said they wouldn't be back until nightfall.

"And they said we can do whatever we want, so long as we stay out of trouble," Eragon said, looking excited. Harry knew he wanted to explore the marketplace, and didn't need to ask what he would like to do.

Grinning at his friend's over-excitement, he shut the door behind him and they walked into the street with contention. It was a bright, early spring morning, with plenty of sunshine and little signs of rain. The warm air had a pleasant breeze as its companion, and gently swirled around the place, calm and serene. Being an ocean-bearing city, there were plenty of gulls to be seen, and bells could be heard emanating from the docks nearby.

This neighbourhood was richer than most of Teirm, although it wasn't noble, so to speak. At least there were no signs of brigands or robbers nearby, Harry reflected. Eragon's happiness must have affected Saphira as well, because she sounded more cheerful than she had in a long time.

"_Good morning, little ones."_

"_Morning, Saphira. We're going to explore for a bit, then I promise to visit again later today,"_ Eragon announced.

They explored the city for the next few hours, delighting in the many shops and strange people that wandered around the streets. A girl no older than Harry asked Eragon if he wanted 'a good time', to which he blushed furiously and hurried away. Harry would have teased him, but was rather disgusted by the situation. There was a reason such things were illegal at home – it was downright degrading for all concerned.

Harry delighted in a bow made of oak that he discovered in a weapon shop. It was about half the size of him, and yet the shopkeeper said it was a 'short-bow'. He had never fired one before, but saw how useful Eragon's was and quickly purchased the fine weapon. It had been polished to a perfect gleam and the string was perfectly springy, Eragon told him. The wood was inlaid with many fine spirals and intriguing runes, which the shopkeeper said were used to spell the bow's name: Nϋrfan, which meant 'unbreakable'.

"And it is unbreakable," the burly man had grunted. "Some magician or such put runes around it, and the string can never be broken. The wood won't split or chip, either. I hate to part with it, which is why I have to charge you so much."

Eragon had nearly choked when the words 'five hundred crowns' were mentioned, but Harry was unfazed. He could always replicate money if he needed to, using _multiplicare_, although he hadn't done so in quite a while.

After a while, they left the shop, and Harry was now the proud owner of a fine bow and a quiver of thirty oaken arrows, each fitted with a razor sharp steel point and eagle feather flights. He fastened the new tools around his shoulders, remarking at the lightness.

"Looks like I'll get to teach _you_ something after all," Eragon said smugly.

Harry shrugged, grinning. "I guess it's the best I can do."

"Oh, you're hilarious."

None of them bought anything else, save some freshly baked bread and clean water for lunch, but they spoke with many people and examined many mysterious artefacts. Eragon was interested in a 'magic amulet', which supposedly prevented enemy magicians from seeing you, until Harry asked the attendant why they were charging so much for lobster claws on strings. Eragon had snorted with laughter, and the shopkeeper had ushered them outside furiously, before they could give away his ruse.

As nightfall approached, Eragon deliberated going to visit Saphira, but decided to wait until after supper. They were dining with Jeod and Helen that night, and he didn't want to appear discourteous. As they headed back towards the merchant's home, Eragon paused.

"What is it?" Harry asked, frowning curiously.

"That shop," he nodded, looking at the herbalist's. "I want to check it out."

Harry shrugged and walked over to the door, knocking quietly. There was no response.

"Maybe we should just go," Harry deliberated, until the door swung wide open. They hesitated for a moment, before walking inside.

The shop was filled with mysterious plants and flowers, reminding Harry a little of the greenhouses during Herbology. He couldn't have named half of what he could see, although there appeared to be a large assortment of Juniper berries on one shelf. Harry recognised many of the plants as ingredients used in potion-making, which reinforced his earlier opinion that Angela practiced traditional, Muggle-orientated witchcraft.

Suddenly, a large cat bounded onto the shop counter, staring at them intently through gleaming red eyes. Its shoulders and paws were well-developed, and angular face was partially obscured by a shaggy mane of black hair. Its slender figure was accentuated by a pair of very sharp-looking white fangs, which curled past its jaw. It looked unlike any cat either of them had ever seen before.

Eragon instinctively tried to reach for its mind, gently tying to reassure it that he was a friend. Given their presently open mental circuit, Harry was also surprised by the response.

"_That isn't necessary."_

Eragon was startled. _"Saphira?" _he asked curiously, but there was no response. The cat looked away and began to lick its paws.

Eragon shrugged at Harry, who was looking at the cat strangely.

"_You said that," _he declared.

The cat paused in grooming itself and looked up at him.

"_Who else?"_

Eragon started in shock, as did Harry. _"But… you're just a cat!"_

The cat hissed at Eragon, baring its white fangs. _"Do I look like other cats?"_

"_No…"_

"_Then what makes you think I am one? I, to correct your mistake, am a werecat. Surely even simple farm-boys have heard of our kind before."_

"_Hey! We're not simple!" _Harry retorted.

"_And yet there you were, trying to argue with what you wrongly assumed was a cat," _it said smugly, before stretching and scratching its claws on the wooden counter.

"_A werecat!" _Eragon sounded excited. _"I didn't know any of your kind still existed."_

"_I didn't know you existed either, until you rudely entered this shop and disturbed my nap. It doesn't mean that you never did."_

"_We're sorry," _Eragon said sincerely.

"What's a werecat?" Harry asked, perplexed. He had heard of a werewolf before, but never a were_cat. _

"They're… well, very intelligent and almost mythical creatures," Eragon said, not wanting to offend the werecat. "They're a little like dragons in that they know a lot, and are very wise creatures. Apparently they can choose to help you in times of peril, and their advice should never go unheeded."

The werecat, who had now closed its eyes and lay there contently, wordlessly agreed with Eragon's explanation.

Harry, feeling slightly foolish, asked what is name was.

"_I go_ _by__ many names, but if you seek my true name, you will have to look elsewhere. However, you may call me Solembum." _

The door to the shop, which had closed moments ago, was thrust open once more. Harry and Eragon looked around in slight alarm as Angela strode in, fearing she would be angry. Thankfully, she was simply curious. She looked at Solembum, and then back at them again, eyebrows raised.

"He says he talked with you."

"You can talk with him too?" Eragon asked.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he'll say anything back." She sat the plants she was carrying on the counter, and smiled slightly. "He says he likes both of you. That's unusual. You're two of only four people who have been able to speak with him since I opened this shop many years ago."

Harry scratched his head. "What does that mean?"

She shrugged. "He thinks both of you have a lot of promise, given a few years' work. He also says that I should try to help you."

"Help us? How would you do that?" Eragon asked, sounding confused.

Angela scrutinised them, hands absently pulling at a few curls behind her ears. "Well, I can make love potions and such, but I doubt you're here for those. Is there anything you actually want to buy?"

"We're… just here to look," Harry quickly explained. "The door swung open, and I thought it was because we knocked, so…"

"Ah, no problem," Angela reassured, waving a hand dismissively. She paused, seemingly hit by a thought of inspiration. "Would either of you like me to tell you your fortune?"

Harry hesitated, not certain. He was sure, with the aid of a werecat, that Angela was much more reliable than Professor Trelawney had been, but some bad experiences in Divination were putting him off, namely the bumbling professor predicting his death every five minutes. After a few moments he couldn't decide, but Angela wasn't paying attention.

"I think," she said quietly, looking at a large crystal ball nearby, "that's only for show. But I do have… wait here." She disappeared into the room at the back of the shop, and was followed by some loud signs of searching. After a few moments she returned, carrying a small leather bag. She dropped it on the table, and sat down, indicating for Eragon and Harry to do the same.

Harry was still unsure, but he sat down anyway. Eragon said he would go first, so maybe that would let him know if he would want to have his _fortune_ read.

"These are the knucklebones of a dragon," Angela said mysteriously, opening the bag. She poured a handful of smooth white objects into her palm, each just longer than a human finger. "Don't ask where I got them, because it's a secret I won't reveal. Dragons are creatures of power. With the aid of the arcane arts, these will tell me everything about you, although deciphering the runes can be difficult. You two seem to know each other very well, so I'm willing to let you witness each others' readings, if there are no objections."

Harry noted a mysterious rune on each of the bones, although they were impossible for him to describe as he couldn't see them clearly.

"I'll ask you properly, and there's no turning back if you agree," she told Eragon firmly. "Would you like me to cast the bones? I warn you that to know the future can be a terrible burden."

Eragon hesitated, before nodding solidly. Harry was impressed with his desire to know the future, as unpredictable as it was. "Cast the bones."

She nodded gravely. "Would you like to do it alone?'

Eragon looked at Harry, but then shook his head. "No, I trust Harry."

Harry nodded in thanks, and watched as Angela began to shake the bones in her hands, before dropping them upon the table.

"_Manin! Wyrda!_ _Hugin!"_

Harry felt himself shiver as the words of power rang loudly in his hears. He had been right. Angela was clearly a witch, and the Ancient Language meant that this fortunetelling would be the closest to true he would ever see. After a few minutes of eternity, Angela sighed and took a draught from the wineskin she had attached to her belt.

"Would you like some?"

They shook their heads, waiting anxiously. Angela shrugged and took another swig.

"This is perhaps the hardest reading I have ever done. You future is more obscure than the island of Sharktooth on a misty afternoon. However, I was able to wrestle a few answers from the bones. Notice the line with a circle resting upon it. It means infinity or long life. I have never seen it appear before."

"_Well, I am a Rider,"_ Eragon said to Harry with his mind.

"Normally, an aspen or elm will appear, signifying a normal span of years. But this means that you have an extraordinarily long lifespan, if not infinite. Now the bones become harder to read, as they lie in a confused pile. Here lies a trio – the wandering path, lightening bolt and oaken door. The wandering path shows that your future is filled with twists and turns, but that you are one of the few people who can choose your path freely. Treat that freedom as a gift, for not many have such power. I see great battles raging all around you, some of them fought for your sake. Many powers will attempt to control your will and destiny, and many possible futures await, all filled with blood and conflict. Only one will lead to peace, and you must use your freedom to find it.

"And yet, as if to counteract that freedom, we have the lightning bolt," she said sadly, pointing at the middle rune. "It is a terrible omen. I know not when it will happen or what shape it will take, but there is a doom upon your life. Part of it appears to be in a death that rapidly approaches, although it seems unclear, as though it may be avoidable. The major form it takes is the oaken door, which indicates you have a choice to make in your long journey. You will have to decide whether or not to leave Alagaёsia forever, and this is symbolic of you having one foot out the door already. It can be retracted, but at great personal cost."

She smiled warmly. "This next bone is more pleasant. A rose blossom. It indicates that there is an epic romance in your future, one which will outlast kings and topple empires, or possibly forge new ones. Your love is high and of noble birth, as shown by the moon, and she is beautiful beyond comparison. And yet…" she sighed, looking at the next symbol.

It was a red teardrop, Harry noticed.

"And yet this love may end in tragedy, unless you make the right choice. Many will try to tear you apart, and it is up to you and you alone to help protect her. She may fall in battle, or to the blade of an assassin. You can save her… but it will cost you a life you hold most dear."

"A life!" Eragon blurted out. "You mean mine, or someone else that I love?"

"Alas, I cannot say," she said sympathetically, shaking her head sadly. "It could be either, or perhaps both, or even none. This sign here – the eagle – it represents your power and authority. You will rise above armies and generals to become a leader beyond comparison, and the whiteness means that you will do it at a very tender age. You will be a noble ruler, and this rune shows you will not do it alone. It is a trio of dragon eggs, something I have never seen before. It means that you will have two great comrades, possibly forged by bonds as strong as the Riders themselves had.

"This last bone is… strange. It is the mixture of a lion devouring a rabbit, and a hunter protecting the rabbit with fire. I believe it shows that you will attempt to confront a much fiercer enemy, and the hunter is a guardian of sorts. With their help, you will rise. But without it, you will be destroyed."

There was a pin-drop silence in the shop. The candles had burnt out, and Harry's mind was numb. Everything Angela had just said was either shocking or mystifying. He wasn't sure if he wanted such a thing for himself.

_Except… no. If Eragon can do it, then so can I. Maybe she can tell me a way to get home, in case we ever have to flee the king and then return someday. Or maybe if I know the future I can attempt to prevent anything negative from happening. I know it's risky, but it's worth a shot. And Ginny…_

Angela offered Eragon the wineskin again, and he accepted gratefully. "Death might be welcome after all that," he joked.

She laughed at him. "At least you have a sense of humour. Ah, I promise you you'll feel better once you're out in the sunlight. You do have a most intense future, I must say. I would dearly love to see how it plays out, especially if it affects the realm in any great way."

Eragon shrugged, unable to respond. "Harry, do you want…?"

Harry nodded intently. "Yes, I want you to cast the bones for me as well. I have to know if I'll ever see… someone again."

Eragon was silent, knowing who he was thinking of. In a rush of movement, Angela repeated the incantation from earlier and cast the bones upon the counter. Solembum, who had watched the entire process before, was now wide awake again. There was another brief silence as Angela studied the mysterious forces of the ether.

"Well, I guess I was wrong," she chuckled. _"This_ is the most difficult reading I have ever done. Your future is almost impossible to predict, because it appears as though you follow the same wandering path as your friend here, as evidenced by the rune. The difference is that you have a choice to make very soon, which is what the chest of gold demonstrates. If you make this choice, it will change your future forever. If you do not, it may result in the destruction of the entire nation."

Harry's throat seemed to tighten.

"I cannot tell you what this choice is, because only you will know it when the time arrives. However, I can say that making this choice will result in you never again returning home, which I see is very far away."

"Can you see where?" Harry interrupted.

She studied the bones closely, but shook her head. "It appears as though… it is not part of this life. You seem to have travelled through either space or time itself. You come from our world, but a different world entirely. Take care with this prospect, as attempting to find your way home will kill you. Only one thing can bring you safely back, but it is gone forever."

Harry sighed, thinking of the portkey. Rather than help him, Angela had just confused the hell out of him. Another version of the same world? What the hell did _that_ mean?

"I am sorry to see this next symbol," she half-whispered, pointing at a broken rose. "It is an epic romance also, but one that has been forever cloven in two. And yet, as if to help, another rose sprouts up in its place. Your heart can be healed, and the runes tell me that your damaged mind has also been fixed forevermore."

_That_ was a relief, although he felt a dagger go through his heart at knowing he would never see Ginny again. Did the new rose mean that he would indeed find someone else to love?

"This is strange. It appears as though an elm line is transforming into a broken circle, as though your normal span of life may be amplified greatly. It seems to me that your choice will also affect this outcome, although it doesn't help me discern what it is exactly. I see a falcon, which swoops like the eagle to conquer; only it does not always want to. You will also lead many people, and become a great warrior in the future.

"I see here a broken sword, which shows that your ethical dilemma will soon be resolved, although not in a way you now want it to do so."

Harry blinked, thinking of his internal struggle regarding killing other people. He didn't want to kill, so would he…?

"I see here, this last rune is a green egg, one of the three from my earlier reading. It seems…" she blinked, gaping at him in amazement. "It seems that you will become a Dragon Rider, if indeed your choice is correct," she said, wide-eyed. Solembum looked at him, apparently surprised.

Harry felt his heart lurch into his chest. He was right, then… what he had heard earlier…

"…Fírnen…"

"What did you say?" Angela whispered, looking at him with wide eyes.

Before Harry could respond, Solembum yowled and jumped onto the table, staring at both Harry and Eragon in turn. He spoke to them simultaneously.

"_Listen carefully, and heed my advice on these matters three. When you are in need of a weapon, search under the roots of the Menoa Tree. When your power is low, go to the Rock of Kuthian and speak your names to open the Vault of Souls. And when you lose yourself, you may be found upon the Bridge at Daggermouth, which no living man may see upon this mortal life. Do this and you shall prosper, but do it not and you will fall. Be careful, or you will lose everything. What is gone can come back, but what is here may leave at any time." _

Harry and Eragon exchanged a glance. Saphira, who had also been listening, emitted her confusion. Above them all a crash of thunder could be heard just as lightning struck the ground outside…

Evil approached Teirm like a flood of power dressed in splattered blood. It smiled viciously as it stared upon the city walls from afar. His new power directed him to the boy who was in the company of the Rider. It was general, so specific searches would be required. He nodded at the soldiers around him, who approached the city and began to check every nook and cranny, ruthless and relentless, beating anyone who dared defy them. Beside him, the Ra'zac croaked, standing like bodyguards.

Laughing manically, Durza's eyes flashed red. It was time to bring the full power of darkness crashing down upon his quarry.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**A:N - To use the correct FanFiction slang, things are going to start getting more 'AU' from hereon-in. **

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen – Harry vs. Durza **

Harry sat in Angela's shop, aware of the herbalist's eyes bearing into his own. The look she was giving him made him feel greatly uncomfortable.

"What did you say?" she repeated, staring at him intently.

He whispered: "I just said the name 'Fírnen'."

Angela continued to scrutinise him, before shifting her attention to Eragon. "I knew your life would be extraordinary, and now I see why. You are a Rider," she declared.

Eragon blinked, and then nodded. "I am Eragon, and am a Rider as my namesake was."

"It's incredible," she breathed. "That old man with you… who is he?"

"His name is Brom, and I am Harry," Harry informed her, not startled by Eragon's revelation. He had expected it, and decided to add his own name to the equation.

Angela looked as though she was about to laugh at something, but was cut short by a scream from nearby. She narrowed her eyes, looking alarmed. Harry and Eragon were on their feet instinctively, swords drawn. Harry also readied his wand. Duel-wielding both weapons was a skill he had strived to master, albeit without much success so far.

Solembum was on his feet now, hissing as his fur stood on-end.

"_We must leave. There is a Shade coming!"_

Harry and Eragon exchanged a panicked glance, before furiously joining Angela at the door. She opened it a crack, peering out.

"It's clear," she whispered. She made to open it, before hesitating. She turned to look at the pair of them. "Both of you must be careful. If they see you, your ruse will be no more. They will hunt you, and any who dare to aid your journey. Do not engage the Shade directly, or he will surely overwhelm you. Go, now."

"What about the two of you?" Harry asked, his moral chagrin taking precedent over his desire to flee.

"We will be fine," she said confidently. "Solembum and I will travel to Tronjheim. The two of you must follow Brom's every instruction. If any can save you, he can."

"Can't you?" Eragon asked carefully.

She smiled thinly. "I am afraid not. I sense you have much training to accomplish, and the four of us could not evade notice anyway. We must do this separately. I know not when, but I shall meet with you again."

"In Tronjheim," Harry nodded. "We'll meet you there."

She repeated his gesture and thrust the door open, ushering them out. Quickly, they ducked and ran outside, keeping low. There was no one in sight, but Harry knew how appearances could be deceiving. Behind him, Angela had vanished. The door shut seemingly by itself. Harry decided to chance a run at Jeod's house, and the two of them half-ran and half-crouched their way to the front door.

Above them, clouds had gathered, and more lightning began to flash across the grey sky, illuminating the patches of darkness. Harry hurried to knock on the door, eyes darting around for any guards.

"Brom!" he whispered urgently, knocking again hastily. "Open the door! It's us!"

In a flash, the door was wrenched open and they were both grabbed inside. Harry almost raised his wand, until he saw that Brom had a hold of him. Eragon had been grabbed by Jeod. Both men looked inconceivably apprehensive.

"Where the hell have you two been?" Brom demanded angrily.

Eragon opened his mouth to speak, but Harry overruled him. "It's a long story. What's happening?"

Brom straightened up and began to buckle his sword to his waist, apparently having started just before Harry had rapped on the door. He looked tense, and motioned for them to quickly locate their travelling packs.

"There's no time to explain," he said breathlessly. "Needless to say: they know we're here. Soldiers are searching room-to-room in every house, and it won't be long before they reach this one. We have to get the blazes out of here before that happens. Now, move!"

Eragon quickly swung his bow across his shoulders, fastening the quiver. They donned their most trustworthy travelling cloaks and leather boots, as Harry ensured his pack was secure. Everything was present.

"Eragon, send a message to Saphira," Brom ordered. "Let her know we're leaving Teirm immediately, and we might need her help to scare any off who get too close."

"I don't think that'll do much good," Harry said urgently as Eragon did so, throwing the cloak across his shoulders. "There's a Shade out there somewhere."

Brom swore violently. "How do you know this?" he demanded furiously.

"Later," Harry said. "We just know he's there. How powerful are Shades?"

"Too powerful for the three of us combined at this moment in time," Brom said gravely. He quickly motioned to Jeod, who locked the door and led them upstairs.

"Where are we going?" Eragon demanded. "We can't hide! They'll find us and kill everyone here!"

"Secret hatch that leads onto the roof," Jeod grunted, pulling on a string hanging from the ceiling. A rectangular gap suddenly appeared, giving them a view of the sky above. "When you get up there, hit the deck and head west. You should reach the water in a few minutes if you're not held up. From there you can swim outside of Teirm if they aren't patrolling the harbour."

Brom nodded and helped Eragon by giving him a boost. Harry was next, but before Brom did so, he clasped Jeod's arm firmly. "Thank you, my friend. We may not have found the Ra'zac, but you have still helped us greatly. I hope we meet again soon."

"As do I," Jeod nodded. "Now, go!" he whispered furiously, as a large banging noise began to sound throughout the house.

Brom quickly clasped his hands together and proffered them to Harry, who stood on the palms for balance. He grabbed the edges of the hatch and pulled himself up, the bow and backpack making the task difficult. When he was up, he turned and pulled Brom up, aided by Eragon. Once Brom was beside them, he used a handle on their side of the hatch to shut it tightly and made a hand motion for them to get down.

They lay there in silence, waiting for the guards to disperse below. Harry heard them arguing loudly with Jeod through the front door, before forcing their way inside.

"Okay, now," Brom whispered.

He slowly raised himself to his haunches, and peered over the edge of the rooftop. There were no other guards in sight. Harry was grateful for this old design of buildings – the roofs were all flat and wide, the surface paved in stone to prevent water leakage. If they were slanted his nerve may have failed him. With a nod at each other, the three of them jumped to their feet and ran towards the edge Brom indicated.

Brom jumped across without hesitance and reached the other side, the distance being about twenty feet. Below them were many narrow alleyways that twisted and turned in every direction, eventually leading to Teirm's slums. Not a soul was in sight, until a patrol passed by, marching loudly.

Eragon and Harry fell flat to their faces as the sound of boots reached them, and scarcely dared to breathe as boisterous voices passed them by. When their backs were turned, Eragon stood up and ran towards the edge, looking determined. Unfortunately, he hesitated just before jumping, and ended up slipping just as his feet left the ground. Biting his tongue to prevent a curse, Harry watched as Eragon just reached the other rooftop, his legs dangling over the side. Brom helped him up, but the sound of his body colliding heavily with the wall had attracted one of the guards below, who turned and pointed at him hanging there, shouting to his comrades.

Harry froze as a dozen heads turned in their direction. A few looked straight at him, but most caught sight of Eragon.

"You bloody fools! Don't just stand there! Get them!" the captain screamed from the head of the column.

Suddenly, arrows were flying towards them, and Harry ducked just as one sailed over his head. He desperately looked at Eragon and Brom across from him, weighing up his options. There was no way he was getting over there without being hit. He couldn't cast a spell in mid-air without losing his concentration falling to the ground below, and the guards were firing at random times, so he couldn't wait until they reloaded. He shook his head at Brom, who understood instantly. The old man stared at him for a moment, until Harry made an expression with his face. It was meant to say _just go!_ Brom read it as such and nodded, pulling Eragon to his feet. In the centre of the rooftop, they were in cover.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Eragon demanded. "Harry, get over here!"

"Eragon, get the hell out of here!" Harry ordered, making a sweeping hand gesture from his prone position. "You're more important than I am! Brom, take him and go! I'll find my own way out!"

Eragon struggled viciously as Brom seized him around the midriff. He practically threw him off the roof and onto the cloth-topped stall of a local merchant on the guards' blind side. Both of them rolled to the ground, looking bedraggled but none the worse for wear.

Harry and Eragon stared at each other for a moment, before Eragon nodded. They could communicate through their mental link. Brom pushed him forward, and the two began to run as one of the soldiers caught sight of what was happening and sounded the alarm. Harry watched as four of the company bounded after them, whilst the other half continued to fire arrows, hoping to score a potential hit.

_Damn it! Why didn't I just blind them with a spell and then jump across?!_

Harry sighed, growing tired of their pathetic aiming. They would never hit him from there. It was a well-timed sigh, for the captain shouted a new order, and they began to climb on crates and barrels in an effort to reach him. Harry stood up cautiously and swore as he saw what was happening. He made as if to run and jump onto the opposite roof when the firing stopped, but paused as two of the guards ascended its frame, reaching the top.

Harry caught a glimpse of Brom and Eragon running towards the harbour, and morosely turned in the opposite direction. He couldn't fight so many. Magic would defeat them, but it would take too long, and reinforcements would be quick to arrive. They drew back their bows and took aim. With a curse, he turned and ran to a different edge, the one to the right, and leaped instinctively. He landed on a wooden crate and felt it break under his weight as two arrows flew past him, one coming dangerously close to his neck.

The crate's thick cloth helped to shield him from the brunt of the landing, but he still felt dazed for a moment and had to shake his head to clear it. His shoulder felt like it would bruise badly, but that was the least of his concerns.

"Damn it," he muttered frantically, as one of the guards rounded the corner. There was no way out in the direction his friends were running.

He ran at Harry screaming a savage war cry, and attempted to swing at his neck. Harry, still light-headed, couldn't get his wand up in time. He barely ducked under the sweeping blow and stuck his leg out, catching the guard above his knees. The man fell to the ground, growling furiously. Without even thinking about it, Harry turned and bolted towards the nearest alley he could see, aware he was running in the wrong direction entirely.

* * *

Eragon ran furiously after Brom down a squashed alleyway in the slums, a group of four soldiers hot on their heels. The twists and turns almost made him feel dizzy, until the path finally straightened out for about a hundred metres. Brom chanced a look back, and saw their weapons were drawn. They couldn't fire arrows whilst running, but Eragon knew they would catch up sooner or later. They were well trained, and although Brom was full of spirit, he couldn't keep up this pace forever.

As it turned out, he didn't have to.

Brom spun around and raised his palm to head height. His ring glinted in the little sunlight that broke through the grimy buildings around them.

"Brisingr!"

There was a horrific shriek as one of the guards spontaneously combusted, grabbing his comrades for help. They couldn't move out of the way in time, and the roaring fire spread, tongues of flame dancing across their tunics until they were all engulfed. Eragon watched, transfixed with no small amount of nausea, as the four men melted into an unrecognisable heap of smoking bone and charred flesh. The smell sickened his stomach.

"Come on!" Brom growled, grabbing his arm roughly. Eragon reluctantly turned away and hurried to follow him.

"How did that happen?" Eragon demanded, as they turned a corner into yet _another_ alleyway, this one strewn with rotting food and animal waste.

"Magical fire is hotter than ordinary," Brom grunted, casting a glance back. No one else was following them.

They reached the end of the complex system of lanes, and Brom hesitated.

"This is too easy," he muttered. "There should be more than four of them, and those cries would surely have alerted any who are nearby."

"Maybe you frightened them off," Eragon said, not believing it himself.

Brom snorted. "If there is a Shade nearby, it's more likely that they've just given up because he can definitely handle us alone. Regardless, we can't linger. We have to get out of this city _now!"_

"Where are the horses?" Eragon asked, worried for the animals.

Brom smiled grimly. "As soon as we got back from the castle, we heard what was happening, so Jeod arranged it for a friend of his to carry them out of Teirm by boat. They should be waiting beside Saphira's hiding place."

Eragon nodded, eyeing the scene before him apprehensively. Despite their frequent glances back, there appeared to be no one following them, so their front was more troublesome. It was also quiet, but a sudden flash of movement on the roof caught his attention.

"There! Did you see that?" he whispered frantically.

Brom frowned, narrowing his eyes. "I did. No wonder it's so easy…"

In front of them was a large section of the marketplace, currently deserted as citizens had been ordered into their homes by the soldiers. It was essentially a large square, surrounded by buildings, with only two exits.

"Ours and the one across the square," Brom said quietly. "I'll wager there are archers on those rooftops, and soldiers hiding in that opposite tunnel."

"Should we go around?" Eragon asked, his back pressed firmly against the wall as he peeked out.

Brom shook his head hastily. "No, there is no other way unless we go through those alleys again and circle around behind the entire marketplace. We can't climb onto these roofs either. Those archers will pick us off before we can blink."

"What about magic? Can we cast a spell to deflect the arrows before they hit us and then just run across?"

"Oh, sure," Brom said sarcastically, "if you want us to drop dead at the feet of any soldiers we meet in that passageway."

Eragon grimaced. "Then I'm afraid we only have one option, although I doubt you'll like it."

Brom glanced at him, thoughtful yet disapproving. He sighed slightly, looking back at the square. There really was no alternative if they wanted to make it out of here alive. "Fine," he nodded. "Call her."

* * *

He ran, fast and furious. He had no idea where he was going, and sure as hell didn't stop to think about it. An entire company of soldiers was chasing him, no less than fifty. He felt oddly peaceful and euphoric, probably from the adrenaline rush coursing through his body like an icy wind. Trying to throw them off, he had turned in the direction of the citadel, but had instead angled for a pile of neatly stacked crates.

Climbing them, Harry began to dart across the rooftops of Teirm, blasting any archers out of his way with banishing and stunning spells. Unlike earlier, he didn't care about them firing arrows at him, and used the energy he was bursting with to easily leap from one rooftop to another. It was terrifying, but exhilarating at the same time.

Below him, the soldiers ran, eyes darting between him and the walls of the buildings in front of them. He grimaced, looking at them. If he stopped, they would notice. So he didn't stop – he turned and brandished his wand in their direction. The adrenaline forced his hand, and he didn't notice what had happened until it actually occurred.

"_Expulso!"_

A sonic boom of pure power rocketed from the tip of his wand and impacted the ground beside his hunters, who had become the hunted. The explosion was so powerful it left an impact crater in the ground, and blew the soldiers into tiny fragments. Some were caught on the outside of the blast, and screamed in agony and fear as their legs and arms were ripped from their bodies mercilessly. They lay on the ground, clutching their bleeding stumps with agony. Some died from shock, others from blood loss.

Only two of the entire company escaped unscathed, and they took one look at the homicidal maniac on the rooftop, before turning and fleeing as fast as their legs could carry them.

Harry stood in shock, looking at the ground below him, eyes wide, ignoring the dust that attempted to blind him. Not only had he just killed people, but he had _obliterated_ at least thirty or forty with one spell. Not even Voldemort had done that! He felt his teeth chattering, and punched himself in the chest to come back to reality. There was no time for this. He would surely vomit later and possibly never sleep again, but for now he had to escape. He turned from the scene of carnage, which had also destroyed about half of the abandoned merchant stalls nearby, and ran for his very life and soul.

Angela had been right. He _had_ resolved that mental battle a lot sooner than previously thought, and he certainly had not wanted it to be like this. Strangely, he didn't feel overly bothered by the situation, perhaps because of the _fight or flight_ mentality that had entered his mind and will, although he knew that was bound to change. He was a murderer in his own eyes, and yet it had felt so… righteous. Those people had killed innocent families and would have killed him too.

Wouldn't they?

He couldn't think about this now. That explosion seemed to have alerted half of the bloody city, as evidenced by the men who appeared from nowhere. Many of them kept their distance, firing arrows, but none came close.

"_Harry? Harry! What the hell was that?"_ Eragon shouted mentally.

"_I… it's okay! I'm fine!"_ he replied frantically, rolling behind a large chimney for cover. The arrows whooshed overhead, some clattering against the stone frame inches from his face. He resolutely cast a disillusionment charm over himself, before thinking hard. Why hadn't he thought of that charm before now?

"_Eragon, we need Saphira's help! I have half of the damned army on my tail, and I still haven't seen that Shade yet!"_

"_I know!" _his friend replied. _"I've already asked her. She's on her way."_

Harry nodded to himself. She would help Eragon first, and then Brom would try to make them leave. Saphira could probably carry all three of them, albeit not for very long. Two was perfectly manageable. She would provide an excellent distraction for his part, but Harry would still have to find his own way out of this current mess. He needed to escape these soldiers and find a place to hide, or else continue towards the harbour. He didn't want Saphira to risk herself unnecessarily.

Taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet and ran to the edge of the roof, vaulting across to the other side. Surprisingly, none of the guards noticed, and he assumed the disillusionment charm was functioning effectively. He looked at his body and grinned. He wasn't entirely invisible, as Dumbledore could have done, but nor was he a mere chameleon either. He appeared to be translucent, silver in colour. Most untrained eyes would miss him.

Grinning widely, Harry quickly climbed off the roof, finding that there was nowhere to go but back again. He began to cautiously move through the streets, using cover and looking around corners carefully. Three times he ducked as large contingents of soldiers passed by. When the coast appeared to be clear, he began to make the directions up inside his head, and found that he needed to go east to reach the harbour. Unfortunately, the sun wasn't visible at that moment.

Actually, the weather decided there and then to finally break, and rain began to fall heavily, just as the thunder and lightning redoubled their efforts. Harry did not care. The silvery colour of the onslaught would merely help to mask his newfound appearance even further. He was almost about to smile again, having forced himself to forget about the soldiers from earlier, when a harrowing voice cut through his elation.

"I've found you at last," came the hiss from nearby.

Harry froze. He had been looking around the corner of a fur and linen shop into a large street, and was about to move. Now, however, he grabbed his wand and whirled around, pointing it at the man who stood there.

He was dressed all in red, with flowing hair to match. His skin was deathly white, and he bore a terrible smirk upon his face. Harry hesitated as he saw the Ra'zac flanking him. This could only be one person.

Wary of Brom's instructions about keeping the mind shielded, he threw his defences up only after relaying one last message.

"_Eragon, the Shade has found me, but he's not alone. The Ra'zac are with him."_

Harry felt the tide of anger, shock and confusion emanate from his friend's mind, but didn't stop to ponder the emotions. He closed up his mind with iron hard defences and tightened the grip on his wand. His sword was by his side, and his bow still sat across his shoulders. In his mind, a small voice reminded him of Brom's earlier warning about the Shade's strength, and he decided to stall for as long as possible.

"So… you seem to know who I am, but who are you, exactly?" Harry asked carefully, keeping his distance.

The Shade smiled. "I am Durza, one above many, below none."

"Below none, except for the king?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

Durza's face hardened, but he didn't rise to any bait. "The king does not control me. He merely… _unleashes_ me when the time is right."

Absent-mindedly, Harry walked out, stopping directly in the middle of the buildings beside him. It left him a lot of space to manoeuvre. Behind Durza, the Ra'zac croaked and snapped at him, more like animals than anything. Durza ignored them.

"But even he could not dream of the power I have absorbed recently. It has doubled my strength… and my resolve," he simpered. He leered at Harry, who felt his heart lurch when Durza's eyes flashed red momentarily.

_It can't be…_

Harry didn't say anything. Brom had told them how powerful Shades supposedly were, but if he had somehow absorbed Riddle's energy… it was unthinkable. Harry could only hope that he wasn't able to use both forms of magic, but then he remembered with a slight feeling of relief that he couldn't possibly have a wand, regardless.

"And now you've come to find me," Harry concluded quietly, eyeing his three opponents in a measured fashion. A small grain of doubt popped into existence then. Where were the guards at?

Almost as if he had read Harry's mind, Durza smiled wickedly. "It's just you and me, boy. I want to test this new strength properly, without those pathetic fools and their swords. If you try to escape… my friends here will run you down."

On cue, the Ra'zac made a hideous cackling noise in their throats, before stepping to either side of the street, watching the proceedings. Harry remembered how tough they were. If this… _Shade…_ could control them so easily, he had a real problem. He had never truly duelled anybody to the death, except for Voldemort at the very end, but that had been quick. This, with two potential types of magic, was on a completely different level. And he had no Elder Wand, either.

"Tell me how you found us," Harry demanded suddenly, and Durza looked surprised.

"Now, why would I do a thing like that? It's my little secret, and I intend to keep it that way… not that it matters. You're mine."

With that, he growled and raised his palm with a ferocious speed.

"Garjzla!"

A red bolt of light flashed into existence and flew towards Harry, who was taken by surprise. He barely deflected it into the wall of a house, singeing the stone. He recognised the wording as 'light' itself. Harry didn't speak, but took it as a challenge. The world seemed to slow down and quiet itself around them.

With vigorous and practiced movements, he flicked his wand accordingly, sending tendrils of fire at the Shade, whip-like in their nature. They flashed across his invisible shield, startling the Ra'zac, but merely caused Durza to grin with malice. That grin turned into a frown of concentration as the Shade gazed intently at the ground around him for less than a split second.

"Istalrí boetk!"

With a roar, the ground around Harry exploded in a wave of fire, and he was blown backwards into the house behind him with a dull thud. He let out a brief cry of surprise as his shield deflected the explosion itself, but _protego_ didn't work against physical assault, and the impact knocked the wind out of him. He lay in a heap, gasping, before realising that he would be dead if he continued to do so.

Eyes snapping up to the Shade's, he jumped to his feet and ran for cover behind a nearby stall, firing an assortment of fire and ice spells at his opponent. For his part, Durza was completely unfazed, and didn't even move as they bounced off his shield. Harry fired a shower of deadly-looking icicles at him, which he halted in mid air with a simple command. Harry was worried about what he was planning, and his fears were not allayed when they were sent back at him like furious hornets, hell bent on death and destruction.

With a slight grunt of exertion, Harry dispelled them and rapidly brandished his wand towards two piles of nearby crates and barrels, firing them at Durza from opposite directions. The fire was now blocking his only exits, so he had to hold his ground and hope that Saphira would arrive soon, if Brom thought the risk was worth it.

Durza laughed hysterically and raised both of his arms above his shoulders. With a roar of "Jierda un moi stenr!" the stone buildings on both sides of the street began to crack and split. The Ra'zac were panicked for a second at this development, but Harry more so. Durza was levitating several tons of rubble without effort, including the halted crates and barrels, and threw them towards the young wizard with the force of a battering ram.

Harry gasped audibly as he saw what was happening, but didn't let his fear show. He became more determined than ever, and hastily dived out of the way, grunting as his chin scraped along the ground heavily. That had almost no effect, however, as the Shade controlled their flight, and brought them around for a second run. Harry took advantage of that, and cast another explosive spell.

The impact occurred directly in front of Durza, and although it didn't breach his shield, it did blind him momentarily. With that in place, Harry flattened himself against a nearby wall, watching as the debris flew towards the one controlling them. Durza snarled as he saw the rocks and boulders, but threw them into the buildings with a lazy flick of his wrist. Screams could be heard from inside the houses, but there was nothing to be done about them.

He raised his palm again, aiming directly at Harry, whose earlier disillusionment charm was clearly having no effect against the sorcerer.

"Thrysta vindr!" he roared.

With a whoosh of movement, Harry felt a huge torrent of wind slam into his _protego _shield. He grunted in exertion as he attempted to move, finding himself pinned against the wall. His disillusionment charm was also dispelled before his very eyes. With his smile having returned, Durza levitated a small dagger above him, the point looking towards Harry's chest.

It launched itself forwards. Harry struggled to move, but was completely stuck. His wand was locked in a position that aimed away from the dagger, but the Ancient Language didn't seem to require the use of said wand, and his left palm was facing the correct direction.

"Thrysta!" he shouted. As the energy left him, the dagger was knocked off target, but he wasn't as strong as the Shade, whose spell therefore took precedent. The dagger ended up about ten inches from Harry's face, buried in the stone structure. Durza smirked.

"So, the rabbit's finally come out of his hole? I see you can use the Ancient Language after all, child."

"I'm no child," Harry spat, shocked as the pressure on him waned a little. He remembered Brom's lessons on concentration. As good as Durza was, no one could gloat and maintain such a powerful spell at the same time. Harry could lower his wand a little. He knew what he had to do. Vow or no vow, Durza wasn't human, and he had already killed. He had crossed the line, so it was time to go the full nine yards. His life depended on it.

"Tell me, how does it feel to be a puppet, errand boy?" Harry asked in a voice much unlike his own. For added contempt, he smirked, his mouth slightly bloody from the impact with the wall.

Durza growled, and Harry felt the pressure loosen just a little more. He could now point his wand at the Shade directly, and hesitated for only a moment. He had no choice, although he still felt sickened with himself. He remembered the little child in Yazuac, as well as any of the villagers who had been butchered. This man, this… _thing_, was no better! He would murder as many people as he could, including Harry! He was just as bad as Voldemort, and he was the master of those _Ra'zac_, who had brutally tortured Garrow! Harry felt his rage spike beyond anything he had ever felt, and screamed in fury.

"_Avada kedavra!"_

A roar seemed to escape his body itself, and his wand reacted in kind. A blast of green light erupted from its very core and launched itself at the demon in red. The Shade was clearly surprised at the force behind this spell, but that didn't stop him from rallying at the last moment. Harry watched in horror.

He deflected it.

The spell veered off, but the last minute deflection was much later than Durza had intended, and the angle was a lot narrower as a result. The spell didn't dissipate – it was too powerful. As it bounced off Durza's reinforced shield, it flew to one side and hit the larger Ra'zac squarely in the chest.

Its brother or sister screamed in anger as it collapsed to the ground, still and lifeless. Harry was in shock. He had killed a Ra'zac. But more than that – Durza had deflected the killing curse, for which there was no known counter. It seemed that Alagaёsian magic was indeed more powerful than that of Earth. He swore as the other Ra'zac drew its blade and ran at him, screaming incoherently.

Durza, true to his word of no interference, acted before Harry. He knocked it out with a blow from the flat side of his sword, and stepped forward, weapon drawn. It was a simple, pale blade, with a single scratch running down one side.

"You are more powerful than I thought," Durza said lightly. "But know this: if I had decided to attack your mind, you would already be dead."

"Then why didn't you?" Harry gasped, falling forward as Durza's magic released him entirely. He half-knelt on the ground, leaning on his hand for support. That magic had really taken a lot out of him, which was unsurprising when one considered his hunger and day of running, to be frank.

Durza raised a single eyebrow. "Where's the fun in that?" he asked nonchalantly, raising his sword in an offensive stance.

"If you let me live, it'll come back to haunt you," Harry said through gritted teeth, still feeling his anger from before. He silently removed his bow and quiver and sat them on the ground beside him, before drawing Aiedail. The magnificent blade gleamed in the sunlight, which had replaced the torrential downpour moments after Harry cast the killing curse.

He wasn't sure what Durza thought was going to happen. Perhaps the Harry of two years ago would have been honourable and respected the decision to fight with melee, but after two months on the road with Brom, Harry had no such intention. If he got a chance to use magic, he was damn sure going to take it.

Durza shrugged. "Maybe so, but I severely doubt it. You cannot defeat me, boy. You are weakening already, and I have hardly broken a sweat. Even your _Rider_ will tremble before my strength!"

He shouted the last sentence, and the sound of his voice reverberated amongst the city like an avalanche. Harry was dimly aware of people peeking through their windows, terrified, yet intrigued. In the corner of his eye, he saw a group of soldiers now preventing his escape, although the still-burning fire would have done that anyway.

He had to make a decision. He couldn't charge Durza head-on in his current state. Although he doubted the Shade wanted to kill him instantly, it couldn't possibly end well. At the same time, he couldn't stand back and cast magic. The Shade was simply too powerful, and Harry was already weak in his Ancient form. He could cast traditional spells without fail, but Durza would eventually get annoyed and retaliate. Besides, he could merely deflect everything on a whim.

As though he had read Harry's mind, Durza laughed. "Starting to see what you have to contend with, boy? No one can defeat me now!"

Harry struggled to think of a reply.

_Damn it, Brom! Where the hell are you?_

* * *

Eragon watched from his alleyway as Saphira burst through the clouds like a ghost, not making any noise. The mini explosions he heard were worrying, and he longed to help his friend out. Harry had mentioned the Shade and the Ra'zac to boot, but Brom had told Eragon to take a deep breath in order to clear his head.

In an instant, Saphira was on top of the archers, who looked up and saw her much too late. They screamed and called for help, but were silenced very soon. He watched, slightly calmer, as she ripped fully grown men apart with her teeth and claws, shredding them into bloody ribbons and splattering the square with blood and entrails. The smell was putrid.

Saphira roared her challenge as a company of soldiers appeared and flew headfirst towards them, displaying her ferocious rows of deadly teeth. Half of the soldiers lost their morale and fled, but she would let none escape. How dare they attempt to hurt the partner of her heart? How dare they try to harm his friends?!

She devoured more than one, but mainly ripped them to shreds without thinking or remorse. Eragon felt her bloodlust, and tried to calm her down, but found he may as well have been trying to stop the tide with his bare hands. He waited for Brom's signal, before dashing across the square to meet her.

The few remaining archers fired at them, but inaccurately so as they ducked and weaved around stalls and terrified livestock. Eragon hesitated. There was a straight dash between him and Saphira, who was busy snapping necks and crushing men by standing on them. One of the archers noticed this, and aimed towards the space, waiting for him to move.

Eragon grinned.

"Time to put our lesson into practice," he told Brom, who was evidently confused. "Stenr reisa!"

As he uttered the words and felt the energy flow out of his body, a medium-sized pebble beside him rose to head height. Concentrating with a frown, he aimed it at the archer above him.

"Thrysta!"

The stone shot off towards him at a lightning pace. The man saw what was happening, but couldn't do anything about it. His mouth was wide open in shock as the stone cracked him on the forehead, killing him instantly. He fell forwards off the building, colliding headfirst with the ground below. That did it for the last two archers, who cowered back into hiding.

"Well done!" Brom exclaimed, grinning at his ingenuity. With a growl of concentration, the old man drew his sword and threw himself into battle with the remaining ground soldiers. Eragon joined him instantly, swinging Zar'roc from its sheath.

He parried and swung at his opponent, who regarded him with a scowl. It was a young soldier, no older than one and twenty, with an unpleasant face and rotted teeth. He lashed out at Eragon with alarming venom, but the Rider knew what to do from Brom's lessons. He kept his composure, not allowing himself to get carried away. Eragon maintained his distance, staying defensive, eyeing the soldier's sword with careful deliberation.

Nearby, Brom thrust his sword through the tunic of his own enemy, who uttered a piercing cry. When the old man retrieved the weapon, it was stained with blood and fragments of bone. Looking around, he charged at Eragon's opponent, who turned to face him rapidly.

In that moment, Eragon rushed forward and lunged with a practiced movement. The tip of Zar'roc buried itself in the side of the soldier's neck, before pushing itself through to the other violently. With an unusual croaking noise, courtesy of his windpipe being sundered by the blade, the man gurgled a mouthful of blood and his eyes rolled back. Eragon ripped the sword out with a grunt, and blood began to pour out through both wounds, completely obscuring the dead man's face. Zar'roc seemed to gleam with delight.

He looked at Brom, panting, although not from weariness, and blinked as the old magician nodded solemnly.

"Come. We have to leave before more show up," Brom declared, sheathing his weapon. He gazed at Saphira. "May we?"

Saphira inclined her head, her mouth tainted with human blood, and just a little of her own. She had taken a few wounds from swords and arrows. _"You may. I can carry all of you. But… where is Harry?"_

Eragon started, almost forgetting about him in the fray. He blamed himself for their predicament, so it was disgusting that he was standing there resting, when a Shade could be tearing him limb from limb! He hastily climbed onto Saphira, feeling much safer already. Brom hesitated briefly, before climbing on behind him. He looked around for a moment, before sighing and reluctantly putting his arms around Eragon for support.

Eragon ignored him. _"Saphira, we have to hurry! That Shade could be killing him for all we know!"_

"_Where are they?" _she asked urgently, preparing to take off.

"Just follow the bloody explosions!" Brom exclaimed, as an ominous laugh filled their ears with chills.

Saphira threw herself into the air, ignoring any lone archers who dared to take a pot shot at her magnificent frame, and flapped her wings in the direction of her other friend.

* * *

Harry deflected another sword blow with heavy arms as Durza smiled at him with evilness. He could have sworn Saphira had roared a few minutes ago, but there was no time to dwell on that. He had to ensure he survived until she arrived, not that it was currently difficult. Durza was toying with him, but could have killed him in an instant if he so wanted. As it stood, however, he still didn't even bother to try and assault Harry's mind.

Harry sidestepped a thrust from Durza's blade and responded by swinging at his head with a backhand movement, but the Shade merely deflected it with utmost ease and redoubled his efforts, speeding up with each attack. He was a much better sword fighter than Harry, and would have won had the duel lasted for a sustained period of time, without doubt.

"You. Are. So. Weak." Durza spat between each blow they traded.

"You. Can. Go. And. Shite." Harry retorted insolently. With a thought of inspiration, he feinted aiming up high, and swung for Durza's knees. The idea was good, but he merely jumped over the blow and kicked Harry in the face, sending him sprawling across the ground. Harry gasped as he felt his nose. It was broken, and blood now covered the lower half of his face.

Durza smirked yet again. It seemed to be his own way of being arrogant. "You don't even know the true mysteries of the arcane arts," he half-whispered. "You would use a pathetic spell like that green light to kill someone, but there are so many more…_ poetic_ ways to do so. It almost feels like… cheating, does it not? As though it is tailor-made for the weak?"

Harry ignored him. If he wanted to be creative when killing someone, he would be an evil bastard, just like the Shade. He much preferred simpler spells, although _avada kedavra_ still rang in his ears, with his own voice, like unholy music. He would have to get used to that. He had already killed a lot of people in one go, so he couldn't exactly get much worse, could he?

Harry took a glance at his wand, lying on the street. He had tried to maintain a distance, but the Shade had grabbed the wand with shocking ease and had tossed it down the road-aways. He wanted to test his physical abilities as much as magical.

"You want to know how I found you?" he simpered, a thought of inspiration hitting him suddenly.

Harry shrugged. "How?" he asked blankly, glaring at him with intense concentration, as he was wary of any sneak attacks. He ignored the throbbing pain in his nose.

"…you do know of a spy in Teirm, do you not?" Durza asked, lying. He had heard of the spies from his conversations with the king, and decided they were less important than divulging his true power. If they were kept unaware of his ability, the boy would invariably lead him straight to the Varden. It was the only reason the boy was still alive. They knew the rough position under the mountains, but an accurate location would be invaluable for the king's planned Urgal assault.

Harry blinked. It appeared as though Brom and Jeod had been correct in their deductions. Without another word, he launched himself at the Shade, sweat pouring down his clothes and face, his hair messy and his glasses half-broken. The Shade also noticed that.

"They are… mysterious things you wear in front of your eyes."

Harry ignored his mind games, and began to execute a complicated series of poses he had learnt from Brom, whereby he balanced slightly on his side and sprung at his opponent from a narrower angle. This allowed him to freely weave his sword before it clashed against Durza's, giving him time to think of a strategy.

"Do they help with your vision?" Durza asked, as he parried Harry's swipe at his shoulders with a flick of his sword.

Harry gasped, panting as he stood back a little. With a rush of determination, he drew himself up to his full height once more. He was going to die, but he wasn't going to give in without a fight. To distract Durza for some much needed breathing time, he nodded.

The Shade tilted his head to one side, looking at him curiously.

_How can that help with sword-fighting? _Harry thought bitterly.

"It's a pity…" Durza said slowly. "After all… what use is a vision aid if you have no eyes?"

Harry blinked, not understanding. The Shade raised his hand.

"Garjzla!"

A beam of red energy shot out of his palm and hit Harry squarely in the face, as he couldn't dodge in time. Harry screamed in pain as he fell to the ground, covering one side of his face in agony. He blinked as the pain vanished, but his screams took a few moments to die away.

His glasses lay on the ground.

Silently, he picked them up, seeing that the right lens had been smashed. Harry held them in both hands, surprised, and noticed that his vision was obscured. He blinked, closing his left eye for a moment longer than the right.

There was no vision in his right eye. He felt his heart lurch in horror and instinctively tested out both eyes, but it was no good.

He was blind in one eye.

Harry stared at the ground, wide-eyed, before glaring up at Durza, who hadn't moved. "Fuck you and your piece of shit traitor," he spat, uttering more profanities than befit his personality.

Durza laughed, high and loud, his pointed teeth adding to the effect. "You may have spirit," he crowed, "but I am the darkness and its spirits themselves. You can never beat me!"

Harry stood up determinably. His tiredness had vanished, replaced only by pure hatred. His one good eye gave him a view of the man before him, and he felt enraged at his smugness. He realised how close his wand now was.

"You're wrong," Harry growled. "Darkness is nothing. It's just an absence of light, and I am that light-bringer."

With a rush of movement, Saphira roared from above, and dived towards the Shade. In the confusion of the guards nearby yelling in terror and Durza frowning, Harry rolled to the side and grabbed his wand. Durza realised what was happening, but it was too late.

"_Lumos maxima!"_

The safety of his holly and phoenix feather wand seemed to explode beneath his fingers in a shower of dazzling whiteness, as a glow brighter than the sun itself erupted from its core. Durza howled in agony as he covered his eyes, and Harry instinctively shielded his own for protection. With one, final rush of adrenaline, he sprinted towards Durza, sword in one hand, and spun around, roaring like hellfire itself.

The Shade was still blinded momentarily, and couldn't block. Aiedail sliced through skin and bone like tissue and butter, sending Durza's head flying to the ground. Harry stared at his lifeless corpse for but a moment, before the soldiers began to swear and fire arrows at them. He ducked and climbed onto Saphira's lowered back, behind Brom and Eragon. With a slight grunt of exertion, she took off into the sky, and took them away from Teirm.

* * *

Before they were too high, Harry aimed his wand at the ground.

"_Accio_ bow. _Accio_ quiver."

The objects flew up and he caught them, hugging them for comfort. He blinked back tears as he continued to test his right eye, to no avail. Brom noticed his restlessness, but didn't say anything as Saphira landed beside her earlier hiding spot after a few minutes of gliding. The horses had been picketed there, but Harry couldn't have cared less how.

Without a word, he mounted Godric, and the three of them galloped as hard and fast as they could, while Saphira flew overhead for support. She had been seen by many people, Eragon knew, but that didn't matter. He dimly recalled guards shouting anxiously as she flew overhead.

Once they had put several leagues between themselves and the city, it was pitch black. Owls hooted from the depths of the Spine, which they had rode into, and crickets could be heard in every direction. They rode all evening and all night, and must have travelled almost to the edge of the Spine beside the great plains, which was no mean distance. Beside them, the Toark River could be heard flowing along peacefully. It provided an oxymoron to the day they had suffered.

When they stopped, Eragon was alarmed as Harry physically fell off of his horse onto the ground, where he refused to move.

Brom quickly dismounted and ran to his side. He was awake, but in a state of exhaustion. Brom grimaced as he saw his face. His nose was broken and the lower half of his face covered in blood. Not only that, but the iris of his right eye had turned scarlet. Harry sat up straight at Brom's command, grimacing as he did so.

"You were right, Brom," he whispered, and Eragon was alarmed at how faint his voice sounded. "Shades really are tough."

He laughed, before it transgressed into coughing. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground beside him. Brom frowned and quickly fetched his skin of water, which he threatened to physically pour down Harry's throat if he refused to drink.

Harry drank half of it in one go, aware the river was nearby. He gasped as he stopped for air, feeling just a tiny bit better. He used the rest to wash the blood of his face, grimacing as he brushed his broken nose. He could mend that with a spell later.

"That… _thing_ blinded me in one eye," he said, his voice breaking.

Eragon and Brom exchanged a look, before busying themselves to help put the young magician to bed. It was relatively safe in the trees, and Saphira said that she refused to leave their side, regardless of who came along.

"I… I killed him, though," Harry said, smiling weakly. "I guess I won in the end."

"I'm afraid you didn't," Brom said gently. "You can only kill a Shade by piercing his heart."

Harry's smile faded. "Oh… but… I did kill a lot of soldiers, about thirty with one spell, and… one of the Ra'zac too."

Eragon's eyes widened.

"_Thirty with one spell?!" _he asked Saphira, slightly aghast. She mirrored his disbelief.

"_Harry is merely delirious, little one. But I did notice a dead Ra'zac on the ground. The other woke up and fled as soon as I appeared." _

"About that," Eragon began, but Brom waved him away.

"We'll talk tomorrow. Now, you better lie down and sleep, before I knock you down," he threatened sternly.

"I… I just wanted to say 'thank you'," Eragon said to Harry quietly. "For killing one of the Ra'zac. The other is alive, but we'll get it soon enough."

Harry nodded, staring from his bedroll at the starry sky above. Things had moved so quickly it seemed quite surreal, to be honest. He wouldn't sleep tonight, not with everything that had happened. He rolled onto one side and felt the area around his ruined eye as Eragon walked away, but his quiet reflection was not to last.

A clear voice rang out, and Harry instantly readied himself for another fight.

"Don't move! I don't want any trouble, but I'm not afraid to use this bow!"

The speaker was a male, but Harry couldn't see him in the shadows. He narrowed his eye, trying to adjust to the horrible feeling, but found that it didn't make a difference.

Eragon felt reckless. He drew his sword, imitating Brom, and jumped to his feet.

"Good for you, friend! The three of us are magicians, and I have a dragon! I hope your bow is fire-resistant!"

There was a brief silence, broken only by the crickets and owls that seemed to be prevalent in the area, before the young man stepped forward, visible only in the moonlight. Brom had staunchly refused to build a fire, not that they had even asked.

"It's true, then," he said quietly. He threw back the hood on his cloak, revealing a face of no more than twenty years, framed by locks of dark brown hair. He carried a finely-strung bow, and wore a hand-and-a-half sword at his belt. He grinned. "I've found you at last!"

* * *

**A:N - If you're confused about what Durza was actually doing in Teirm, let me say this: he's an arrogant, over-confident Shade, so it stands to reason he wanted to test his abilities out. Harry just happened to be who he could sense. Yes, he inevitably would have tried to capture Eragon and bring him to the king after beating Harry, but obviously he didn't get that chance. I also don't think there's been quite enough magic in the story for my liking thus far, so that's going to change from here on-wards. As always, feel free to PM me with any questions. **


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**A:N - Certain thoughts in my mind have given me the idea that this story may eventually have to be updated to an 'M' rating. I'll keep you notified on that as time goes on. Here is where the plot twists truly begin to unravel. **

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen – The Company Expands**

Not surprisingly, both Eragon and Harry slept badly the night after they fled from Teirm. That is to say: Harry slept badly for the ten minutes he managed any sleep at all, whilst Eragon woke up every half an hour or so. Brom had stayed wide awake, watching the mysterious man who had entered their camp. Saphira had likewise done so, and the silence that surrounded them was next to unbearable as each waited for the safety of daylight.

For his part, Murtagh did manage to sleep, but not as well as he would have liked. He was not overly worried about their hostile reactions; in fact, he had expected them. He would probably have to let them inspect his mind to gain even a grain of trust, so he needed to ensure anything compromising in his past was hidden. His name would have to be given if he ever wanted their trust, and he dearly did. It would come with a price, however, as Brom would surely recognise the name of Morzan's son. Instead, he needed to ensure any secrets of his were kept to himself, such as his previous agreement to help the king, before discovering the extent of the tyrant's capacity for cruelty.

He would explain his story to them – how he had come to find them, and what his purpose now was. He regretted the possibility that Brom may want to lead them to the Varden, but Murtagh honestly began to think that might be the best option after all. From what he could gather, they had gone through hell in Teirm, and he was already a hunted man. If Galbatorix's agents didn't hunt them down, surely any reasonably skilled team of bounty hunters eventually would.

He yawned widely and rolled onto his back, before sitting up straight. He froze as he saw the other three standing close to him, weapons drawn. He was briefly drawn to the dark-haired boy's differently coloured eyes, but passed over his face without a word. He looked directly and Brom and shrugged, causing the old man to drag him to his feet with a growl.

Murtagh chuckled in mild appreciation as he stumbled and prevented himself from toppling over entirely. He quickly brushed the dust off his leggings and turned to face them, grinning.

"You can be quite silent when you want to, it appears."

"Don't patronise me, boy," Brom said fiercely, glaring daggers at him. "Do you honestly think I can't recognise that face, that… _shadow?_"

Murtagh stiffened a little. "I know you can, but isn't that proof enough that I'm willing to trust you? Why would I come here, throw myself at your feet, and sleep before you when you know who I am?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, looking unimpressed. "I'm confused, who is he?"

Brom was silent for a moment. Around them, the sun steadily rose behind the trees. It was still dark, but much less so. They would have to leave soon, so this must be dealt with quickly.

"His name is Murtagh," Brom said slowly, more gently. "He is the son of Morzan, the first Rider to betray the Order to Galbatorix. His first and most loyal servant," Brom spat.

Eragon blinked and looked at the stranger in disbelief, who shrugged again.

"I cannot deny it, and why should I? I hated that man until the day he died, as I hate that bastard Galbatorix. If you want proof, search my mind," he offered without hesitation.

"Let's say we believe you," Harry stated, annoyed and saddened by the feeling of only being able to see on his left side, "what are you doing here? How did you find us?" He didn't know much about Morzan, save that Eragon held his sword, but he did know that he was a great threat to Brom over the years gone by.

Murtagh blew a little air between his lips. "That tale may take some time. Wouldn't you rather-"

"Speak. Now," Brom ordered, raising his sword a little higher. Behind Murtagh, Saphira landed and growled at him. Murtagh eyed her cautiously.

"All my life I've dreamed of dragons," he said, sounding happy. That was uncomfortable for Eragon. Any sane person would be frightened to death if Saphira looked at them in that manner. This man… no, this boy, for he couldn't be older than Harry, seemed almost amused at their efforts. It was perplexing.

"Okay, fine," he scoffed, sitting down on a nearby log. None of them moved. They listened in silence, hung to his every word, as Murtagh told them the beginnings of his tale. He had been sought after by the king, but had escaped before the dreaded meeting ever took place. In the process, his loyal friend Tornac was sadly killed by guards waiting in ambush, and Murtagh had fled to Gil'ead.

He had then travelled to a small town known as Cren, on the fringes of the Spine. His journey had been long and hard, so he decided to briefly stay in a local inn, listening for the sounds of any men sent to bring him back. He had been there for but a few days when whisperings of a new Rider had begun to surface. Brom paused him there.

"What are you talking about? How did this rumour come about?" he demanded, eying him carefully.

Murtagh grimaced, clasping his hands together. "I don't think you were seen by any _humans, _but Urgals aren't human. Their kind hides in the Spine, and must have seen your group. They've been harassing towns and villages up and down the great plain for months now, and Cren was next on their list. Fortunately, the villagers were well armed, aware of a recent massacre in Yazuac-"

"Yes… we saw what happened there," Eragon interjected. He cast a sideward glance at Harry, who grimaced at the memory. "It wasn't pretty."

Murtagh nodded with sympathy, and Harry uncharacteristically felt a tiny bit of his suspicions fade. It was miniscule, but it now meant that he was willing to believe this stranger if he turned out to be truthful. That had to be determined first, however, with the rest of this story and a check upon it by reading his mind.

"Well… that's a taste of the king's madness. He allows these atrocities to go unpunished. I could never serve a man like him without cutting my own throat in shame. And those Urgals… they are no better. A group of them ambushed the town under the cover of darkness. They caught the watchmen completely by surprise and killed four of them with their bare hands. They would have gone on a rampage, but the militia arrived and dispatched them before that could happen.

"Then, it happened. One Urgal was captured alive, and brought before the leader of the town guard. I was present because the entire town had come rushing to help. Before the man executed it, the Urgal spoke of 'great dragons' and 'a man with blood hair' to the west. I knew it was telling the truth because I was aware of the Shade already, so the Rider must also have been real. Needless to say, I was astounded.

"I decided then and there what I had to do… I've been searching for a place to belong ever since I left Gil'ead. No. Before that. I've been searching for my whole life," he said gently. "I found you by heading southwest, as the Urgal said. I don't know why I believed it… I guess it just seemed… _right_.

"And my purpose?" he asked Harry directly, looking at him. "I want to help overthrow that mad king, however possible. I want to help protect the first Rider of this era, and make a difference in this world. I want to join you in your quest."

There was an outstanding silence, but not because any of them were shocked. Far from it. Before waiting for Murtagh to awake, they had agreed he was here to join them. That was obvious from his words 'I've found you at last!' The problem was, obviously, knowing whether he was there to _actually_ join them, or whether he would cut their throats when they were sleeping, before running back to his master. Harry wasn't convinced that this man had a master, however. It seemed as though his only master was the culmination of individuality, freedom and careful planning.

To buy some time, another question was merited.

"Why Cren?" Brom asked in a guarded manner.

"It was the logical choice," Murtagh shrugged. "I planned to remain there for a few days to rest and gather supplies before travelling south, to Dras-Leona. That was before I witnessed the Urgal's dying words, of course."

"Why Dras-Leona?" Harry asked, momentarily caught off-guard. He lowered his wand just a fraction, before raising it again at the thought of his own naivety.

"I wanted to destroy the Ra'zac in order to disrupt the king as much as possible," Murtagh said simply.

"What!" Brom interjected loudly, making the three of them jump. "You know where they are?!"

"It," Harry correctly briefly. "I killed one yesterday," he told Murtagh.

Murtagh raised his eyebrows in astonishment. "Impressive. And yes, their lair is Helgrind, which is directly beside-"

"I know where it is," Brom said dismissively. He looked at Eragon and Harry, before sighing dramatically. To their surprise, he sat beside Murtagh and replaced his sword with the wooden pipe he loved so much. Even more to their surprise, he announced: "I trust him."

"You do?" Eragon asked incredulously. "You haven't even read his mind yet, and you're always telling us not to trust strangers! How can you be so hypocritical?"

"Peace," Brom chided, holding up a hand calmly. "If you weren't so near-sighted you'd know that his mind has been open this entire time. I've been verifying his story even as he's been talking."

Harry stretched out his mind at the same time Eragon did, finding no mental barriers to repel them from Murtagh's consciousness. In fact, it was as though he had thrown out the welcoming mat and laid out a nice buffet for their arrival.

Harry snorted at that pathetic simile on his part and shook his head. He began to delve into Murtagh's memories, and found that he was telling the truth. There he was, fleeing the capital… arriving at Gil'ead… fleeing Gil'ead… wait. What was that?

Harry frowned and probed at one particular memory. He watched as, seemingly inside his own head, Murtagh was approached by a mysterious stranger. A stranger who looked and sounded exactly like…

Riddle.

Harry gasped in shock as Murtagh stabbed him in the resulting confrontation, before riding off towards Cren. He broke from the memory abruptly, followed swiftly by a frowning Brom. He had seen the exact same thing.

"Was that who I think it was?" he asked.

Harry slowly nodded, just as Murtagh realised how much he looked like that mugger.

"He wasn't a thief… well, not _just_ a thief," Harry told him abruptly, remembering the conversation he had witnessed and Murtagh's thoughts at the time. Harry carefully scrutinised Murtagh, thinking carefully. Durza had absorbed Riddle's energy before he died, but it appeared that it had been Murtagh who had struck the fatal blow.

He quickly explained this to Brom and Eragon. Brom looked thoughtful, and very worried to boot.

"I've always known that Shades can absorb energy, but if that thing was as powerful as you say it was, then Durza's strength will have almost doubled by now, if not more."

"He was," Harry confirmed, sighing. "Murtagh, I have to thank you. What you killed wasn't exactly… human. It was like a Shade, in a way, and it placed a curse on my mind. I was losing my memories until you killed it. I just wish Durza hadn't found him…"

Murtagh understood their conversation, and nodded. "No problem; I'm glad now that I did. Why did you look so alike, if you don't mind me asking?"

Harry hesitated. He wanted to trust Murtagh, but not that much just yet.

"It's a long story," Eragon said, rescuing him. He had been unusually quiet up to now. "Needless to say, he made himself look like Harry on purpose, and then ran off before we could kill him. Okay," he continued, sheathing his sword and turning to Brom. "We know he's telling the truth, so what now?"

Brom smiled a little. "There's one more opinion I want before we decide what to do with him."

Harry watched as he nodded towards Saphira, who had been lazily watching these proceedings whilst acting simultaneously as a lookout. She looked at them in turn, before nodding silently.

"Good," Brom said, satisfied, before flashing his eyes slightly. "Keep in mind that we _do not_ trust you whole-heartedly. Be warned: if you attempt to cross us, you'll be disembowelled, eaten, or burnt to a crisp."

"And that's by me," Harry added. He didn't try to be threatening, so much as humorous, but it turned out that was nonetheless. "Saphira can't breathe fire yet, but I can light you up with a single word. They'd be able to smell barbecued Murtagh for leagues when I'm finished."

Brom choked with laughter. "Bloody hell, boy. Remind me to never get on your bad side."

* * *

Murtagh led them through the trees for a mile or two, before they came across his horse picketed beside a large oak. It was a magnificent grey animal, strong and regal, named Tornac after his murdered friend. They were quiet during this mild hike, listening for the sounds of soldiers. Murtagh told them that he was a wanted man, but Brom had merely grinned and said that they were all in one boat by this point.

"About that," Eragon said, swinging his leg over Cadoc and ascending easily. They had led the horses on foot. "We'll have to avoid Teirm for possibly the rest of our lives now, correct?"

"Only until the king is overthrown," Brom shrugged, grunting as he mounted Snowfire. "Although, as a Rider, many will try to be on your good side, and many others will be jealous and attempt to have you killed."

"Great," Eragon said in a mock-cheerful voice.

On that note, they made Murtagh swear an oath of secrecy in the Ancient Language. It literally translated to mean that he couldn't tell anyone about Eragon being a Dragon Rider unless one of the other three mentioned it beforehand. It was a tad constrictive for his liking, but he hastily complied without complaint. He understood the importance of keeping secrets, especially this one in particular, and they could always release him from the vow after coming to trust him a little bit more anyway.

"So, where are we going?" Eragon asked curiously. Brom had quietly led them out of the trees and onto the edge of the great plain after a little while of riding, keeping an eye peeled for soldiers. From there they paused, as Brom needed time to think.

"I'm not sure," he admitted ruefully, shaking his head. "We can't stay here for obvious reasons, but the Ra'zac will not have left for Helgrind so quickly."

"How do we know it's not following us?" Harry asked quietly, leaning closer to Brom. Instinctively, he also looked around, although looking to his right side was tantamount to torture. He still hadn't gotten used to this, and doubted that he ever would. The pain had faded entirely, but the blindness appeared to be permanent. It would be a real problem in another combat scenario. He had to think of a magical solution, quite literally.

"_I would be able to smell it,"_ Saphira declared, flying overhead. His whisper obviously wasn't quiet enough to bypass the keen ears of a dragoness.

"Maybe we should track it," Harry suggested, anxious to drive a sword through its neck. That might make him feel a little better. With that thought, the sheer weight of what had happened yesterday on that rooftop hit him all at once, and he lost his breath. Brom caught sight of his choking and slapped him hard on the back a few times in quick succession. Harry was right with his deduction earlier. He certainly threw up.

Eragon grimaced. "You weren't really being serious, were you? You couldn't possibly have killed so many."

Harry shook his head, realigning his glasses. "No, I meant it. One spell and at least thirty of them were lying dead. This is a reaction to that."

Murtagh whistled in appreciation, and Brom shot him a piercing look. He quickly shut up.

"We've all killed," Brom said compassionately. "It doesn't get any easier unless you let the joy of battle take over you, which some men do in order to purposefully cope with the sickness in their heart."

"That's very deep," Murtagh interjected. "But the truth is far simpler. Some people have to kill in order to survive. It's necessary at times."

"You can't justify murder with saving your own life," Harry retorted angrily.

"Murder?" Murtagh repeated. "We're talking about battle, and fighting in self defence. There's a huge difference."

Harry shook his head quickly. "What happened yesterday was murder. Put it whatever way you want, but I murdered those people. I could have evaded them, but I chose not to. I wasn't quick enough to think of another solution, and I can't let that happen again."

Murtagh was silent, knowing that his mind needed to rest before it could be appeased. They all became rather uncomfortable, just sitting there in the open. Eragon was about to suggest they move, but Brom seemed to read his mind.

"It seems my only option is to take you to the Varden for protection," he said grudgingly. "I don't want to, make no mistake, but I have no other choice anymore. We're running out of places to run, and the Ra'zac may come after us to seek revenge. We can't track it if it's bloodthirsty. And that Shade… no, we have to get there before it's too late."

Brom knew that Murtagh wasn't a magician, despite his admirable defences. He couldn't read minds, and Brom had no reason to tell him the location of the Varden's base yet. He only mentioned the need to head south east, so that is where they would go. Harry and Eragon nodded, aware of the Beor Mountains, whereas Murtagh stiffened slightly.

"You appear to have us trapped between a rock and a hard place, friend. This route is guarded on either side by Urϋ'baen and Helgrind."

"Well, we're hardly going to go and knock on the bloody door," Brom said sarcastically. "There are almost fifty leagues between both fortresses, so we should go unnoticed."

"'Should' being the operative word," Harry nodded casually, causing Brom to scowl. "And before I forget… Durza told me about how there _is_ a traitor in Teirm. He relayed information to the Empire, which is how Durza found us in the first place."

"Hmm… I'm not surprised," Brom declared. "If for no other reason than to discover the identity of this traitor before he causes chaos, we have to reach the Varden in less than a month. That, and the fact that I want to put as much distance between us and Teirm as possible, means that we'll have to travel faster than before. The distance is greater than between Carvahall and Teirm."

"I'm not entirely devoid of sense," Murtagh motioned. "Judging from your measurements, it seems obvious this base is hidden around the Beor Mountains, which I have always suspected."

"So what if it is?" Brom asked rhetorically, before turning away from him and starting to ride with some pace. They hurried to match him.

"You'll get used to that," Harry said lowly, leaning over towards him. He still didn't trust Murtagh entirely, but it hadn't been very long since they determined he wasn't a threat. Well, he _was_ a threat, judging by his escape from the king. He just wasn't a threat to them. On their walk through the trees, Brom had made him swear in the Ancient Language that he wasn't there to harm them, or to serve the king. Not being able to lie in that language appeared to be quite advantageous for interrogations, Harry reckoned.

"I can hear you," Brom called back, without turning around.

Murtagh grinned. "I truthfully didn't expect any of you to trust me so quickly, if you must know."

Harry sat up straight once more, feeling slightly uncomfortable as Godric galloped along the grassy earth. "Oh, we don't. We'll keep a close eye on you, even if you did swear to be truthful and to not harm us in the Ancient Language."

Murtagh nodded. "I understand, and I'm willing to accept such suspicion until you come to trust me."

They rode for several hours without stopping, making haste across the great plain of the Empire with a furious drive and ferocious ambition. Brom was a ruthless taskmaster when he wanted to be, and that was almost always. He made them gallop as fast as possible without killing the horses, eager to forget the horrible ocean city behind them.

The scenery was greatly different to what Harry had observed upon first leaving Carvahall. Almost two months had passed since that day, and the last remnants of winter had faded from the land, framing the path for the arrival of spring and new life in the surrounding world. Growing plants and energetic creatures of all forms could be seen during the day, and he suspected the call of crickets and owls would be more prevalent than they had been during the night several weeks ago. The landscape truly was beautiful; large, rolling hills covered in green and young flowers. The Spine was soon a distant silhouette upon the horizon, appearing to be a line of ominous trees surrounded by the mountains beyond.

And yet, despite the seeming serenity, Harry could simply not enjoy it as he once had. He could still appreciate the beauty of the land, but much less so now that his eye had been robbed of its very own life. It had only been a day since the fateful incident had occurred, but he still found himself pining for full vision, as poor as it had been without glasses. It was a little annoying that he could constantly see one side of his nose now, but that was the least of his concerns.

When they stopped for the night, Murtagh dropped from his horse with an audible sigh of relief. Eragon was more composed, and Harry made no sign that he cared about discomfort. As the other two young men prepared to light a fire and make soup, Brom approached him. He had expected this.

"So… how are you feeling?" the old man asked, sounding concerned for his well-being.

Harry hesitated. "I feel fine," he said honestly. "There's nothing I can do about it, so I have to learn to accept it. I know one spell that might help, but it won't let me see again. Do you know of any cure?"

Brom grimaced as the unmistakable signs of hope entered his voice, and felt downcast when he shook his head. Harry's face dropped. "I'm afraid not. But, on the bright side, every soldier suffers injuries. Some lose limbs and some are permanently crippled. You say you have a solution, so maybe it won't be so bad in the long run."

"Well, it's not a solution," Harry said. "It's a compromise, and not a very efficient one either. It's a spell known as the 'supersensory charm', which should let me be aware of anything around me through a magical aura."

Brom nodded, understanding. "Such a thing would double for your vision, I assume. Would it let you know if someone was swinging a sword, for example? Pretend you wouldn't hear them first, of course."

Harry thought about that whilst pulling the bedroll off of his horse. He began to unravel the oh-so familiar layer of rough fabric and spread it out across the ground. Nearby Eragon and Murtagh were collecting firewood, whilst Saphira was grooming her claws.

"It should do so, if I cast it properly. It can be made permanent… I hope. If I do manage to make it work, I might even be able to sense other forms of magic nearby. Obviously I won't be able to see anything, but it's better than nothing," Harry said grudgingly.

Brom agreed with him. "At least it means you can still fight efficiently. If you grow used to the sensation, you'll master it before long, and then you might even be more deadly than the best magician with two eyes."

Harry screwed up his face, before dropping his voice to a whisper. He looked around instinctively, but the others weren't paying attention. "Brom, I normally fight anything head-on. I basically walked to my death in order to protect my friends, quite a few times. I still would. But… that Shade scares the hell out of me. I don't want him to, but I think… well, could it be an effect-"

"Of what happened?" Brom asked, and Harry nodded, pausing in his act of nailing the bedroll into the grass. "It definitely is. I know you quite well now, Harry. You aren't afraid of any challenge before you. This is your body's natural reaction to losing half of its sight. It's afraid of losing the other half, which means that your mind is also affected. You can't help it, although you should try to fight it."

"But what if I do?" he whispered frantically, sounding quite frightened. He knew all about these situations from past experience, but that didn't stop him from sounding like anybody who is terrified. It was so uncharacteristic of him that he felt almost disgusted, but he simply couldn't control the fear. It was nothing excessive, but a constant grain of doubt set in the back of his mind, persuading him that he would lose his other eye if he didn't take great care. If that happened, he would be helpless and lost in a dark, dangerous world.

Brom hesitated, but redeemed himself almost instantaneously. "You won't. The fear will keep you alive and cautious. The trick is to not let it consume you, but for you to control it. I think you'll become a much more vicious fighter now, Harry. Don't be ashamed of that. You've killed men now, and you know how it feels. As much as it might disgust you… your body, naturally born to survive by any means necessary, _will_ crave the adrenaline of battle again. And you're smarter than most people in this world, so you know that you'll protect your eye… again, _by any means necessary_."

Harry knew that Brom was right. He was, as Jeod said, a man of great wisdom and virtue; he may be a tough teacher, but perhaps that was for the best. When it came to helping, however, he was kind and easy to approach. Harry appreciated those defining characteristics in anyone, and wondered how, as Angela had predicted, _he_ would ever become a great leader. He could never be half as good as Brom, could he?

He had led before, of course. When the DA had been created, and when hunting for Horcruxes, he had assumed the leadership of both groups. His work had hardly been exemplary, but it had paid off in the end on both occasions. Many students learned new and vital ways to defend themselves against any dark threats, and Voldemort had been destroyed in the end. But Angela's prophecy spoke of much more than that. She seemed to imply that he held the fate of this world in his hands and that he would lead many people in the coming years… no, months, in fact. She said that he would be of a 'very tender age' when it occurred.

He hoped both she and Solembum had escaped from Teirm, because he liked both of them, but also so he could ask them more about their respective prophecies. But at the same time, was that a good idea? The future was uncertain in his eyes, regardless of what he thought about the accuracy of Angela's predictions. He shook his head to clear it, aware that he was merely distracting himself.

"Thanks," he told Brom gratefully, and Brom nodded. He walked away to set up his own bed for the night, lighting his trusty pipe as he did so.

"Do you think the king is really as crazy as they make him out to be?" Eragon was asking Murtagh in their own conversation.

"I would say 'yes'," Murtagh replied, chuckling slightly. "I spoke with him a few times, and every night I wish that the conversations had never taken place. It's hard to describe when you haven't heard his voice, but he has a silver tongue. His words could draw water from stones, even without the aid of magic. He truly is crazy with his ideas, however. He spoke to me of 'massacring' traitors and any who dared oppose his 'rightful claim' over the realm. Unfortunately, the Varden are just as power hungry."

"They have the correct intentions, though," Eragon responded. "With the right men and women leading them, the land will surely see better days."

"Maybe, but such optimism isn't useful in such an unpredictable world," Murtagh said, depositing an armful of firewood in the centre of their camp. He wiped his brow and stood back as Eragon added his own burden to the pile. "The politics of the land are led by powerful, vicious men, many as twisted and depraved as Galbatorix. If we truly want to improve the system, we have to remove them as well."

"And you think some of them reside in the Varden?" Eragon questioned, looking at him.

Murtagh nodded, half grimacing and half smiling solemnly. "I think anyone with power craves only one thing, and that's more power. I don't know any of you that well yet, but you're a Rider, Eragon. Make sure you don't let that power destroy you even before your enemies can."

* * *

Death stalked him like a rotted corpse, tracing his every movement and following his every step. He had killed many men and women, even younglings, and now the spirits of the deceased followed him like the never-ending shadows of the sun's rays. They whispered to him in the darkness, called to him during the night… but he never replied. He was immortal in age, and almost indestructible through wound. That did not mean he couldn't feel pain, however. When the boy had cut his head off, it had been so, so painful to be reborn from the shadows of evil.

Durza stepped in front of the regal figure and knelt, awaiting his patience. Before long he was instructed to rise, and did so fluidly.

"Follow me."

Durza walked alongside the man so many feared, and some loved. He was truly the only man powerful enough to hold any sway over Durza, but Durza knew that to serve was advantageous when the situation called for it. Not only that, but this man had formed him in the first place, so it was now to him and him alone that Durza's loyalties lay.

"Tell me what you know," Galbatorix ordered. His voice sounded like the ripples of a serene ocean, filled with wonder, but laced with malice. It intimidated Durza, a Shade intimidated by nothing but.

"The boy is powerful, Your Grace. His magic is beyond anything I have ever seen, and he wields it as the most talented of magicians. He does not know it yet, nor does Brom, but he _will_ become even more powerful than the Rider himself in time," Durza answered calmly.

They walked out of the throne room towards a secret, mysterious lair that Durza knew so well. The hall was lined with magical traps of all assortments, and any who set foot here without the permission of the king, which he granted to no one under any circumstances, would die instantly in an assortment of decidedly nasty ways. As it was, the aura of the king, shivering to be around, disabled each trap as they walked along. They eventually reached an ornately decorated door, one which had neither lock nor handle. The king ran a palm in mid-air along its width, and Durza felt a cold slither past as it slowly swung inwards.

"As I suspected," Galbatorix mused quietly, striding inside. His long, black robes flapped around his ankles as he did so. The room was longer than it was wide, and framed on all sides with glistening white marble. Upon two at the far end of the trophy room sat the green and red dragon eggs, gleaming magnificently even amongst the fine decorations. This room felt magical to any trained user of the Ancient Language, as the sheer number of wards and traps placed upon it was simply overwhelming. Too many to count, laced with the excess power of the king himself. Many people thought vast piles of treasure lay here, but Galbatorix had no such interest in those trinkets. The two dragon eggs were more precious than any metal in the entire world.

"My lord, he killed one of the Ra'zac," Durza said, shifting uncomfortably. He stood near the entrance as the king strode towards the centre of the room, gazing intently upon the pedestals, his hand portraying great thought and intensity as it was placed upon his chin and mouth.

"It is no matter," the king said silently. "If anything, I am glad. They are foul creatures, and I… well, I plan to have much greater servants before long. Where is the other?"

"I sent it to Carvahall, the boy's village, to track down any family he has left. It will prove a useful venture."

"It will prove fruitless," Galbatorix dismissed, not altering his stance. "Brom will train the boy to show apathy towards any if it can cause him, or his dragon, to come to harm. In any case, it does not matter. Let the Ra'zac fulfil some of its bloodlust, so long as it does not kill his family. As for the Varden… are you sure this little plan of yours will work, Durza? Much rests upon its success."

"I am certain, my liege," Durza nodded firmly. "I can sense the boy now, although I cannot read his mind. I didn't ignore simply him in Teirm. Something was blocking me from doing so, and I cannot fathom what it is."

"Maybe…" the king deliberated lowly, casting a sweeping eye over the eggs. He turned to face the Shade, his most trusted advisor. "I want no mistakes this time, Durza. You are now more powerful than the three of them combined. Kill Brom, but bring the other two to me. As for the Varden and the dwarves… destroy them. Burn their corpses and let their ashes blow over the Beor Mountains as a monument to their failure."

The king sounded vicious, but not angry. It was his most dangerous tone of voice, and he did have many of them.

"What of the elves?" Durza asked.

Galbatorix turned away once more, silent for but a moment. "We will deal with them together after the Varden have been dispatched. I also suspect that Murtagh will attempt to rally against me with the Varden. If you do happen to find him, also bring him here. It is high time I tried to let these eggs hatch, and he is a prime candidate, as is the other boy."

"I believe his name is Harry Potter," Durza deliberated, remembering some memories of the boy he had absorbed. He held several of his memories, but they did not stretch beyond a few days of his death, possibly as he had only been _created_ around that time.

"Potter," the king scoffed. "I have much to ask him about his own land. And speaking of elves…"

"I have not tried since I absorbed the boy's energy," Durza answered quickly. "The princess was very strong, although now I will overcome her with ease."

"Then why is she still alive?"

"Your Grace?"

"Why have you not extracted the information and… disposed of her?" the king asked, looking around at him.

Durza smirked with an evil glint in his eyes. "You and I both know how troublesome the Varden can be, sire. They will mount a strong defence, and those three will be the cornerstone of their power. Seeing the elven princess fall before them will destroy their morale, and the battle will be so much easier to win."

"Durza… we both know you are a cruel and vindictive bastard. It is in your nature. However… that being said… I am forced to ask: what exactly are you planning to do with her? I only ask because I have no desire to remove her from the equation without extracting all of her knowledge beforehand," the king almost whispered.

"I shall do that first, my king," Durza promised firmly. "What do I plan to do with her? It is simple, sire… I plan to place her before the entire army of the Varden, and cut her throat for all to see."

Galbatorix returned his glint, and nodded briefly. "I concur. It will be done anyway. Oh so much the better if it is to our advantage. I want you to return to Gil'ead for the time being and find the information that we desire, do you understand?"

Durza nodded.

"Good. After that, use your newfound strength to hide her where none can see. I would ask you to bring her here, but I must leave for Dras-Leona soon. It appears that fat, idiotic Lord Tábor has been skimming over his taxes to the capital," the king spat disgustedly. "I should kill him for it, but I won't. A public lesson in humility will be enough to have him pissing his pants the next time he even thinks of such an unprivileged act."

Durza was about to leave with his orders, but hesitated. The king raised an eyebrow. "Yes, what is it?" he asked.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but there are thousands of women and children in line with the Varden. Would you like me to kill them too, or have them made into slaves?"

The king shook his head robotically. "Leave none alive. And Durza? I understand it is King Orrin's birthday in a month's time. I feel it would be unwise not to send him a gift, in an effort to maintain our relations. Send him the boxed head of Ajihad."

Durza smirked, nodding in his Durza-like manner. "I consider it an honour, sire. I also ask that you look over a rare piece of magic I discovered inside my young sacrifice's mind. It seems difficult to implement, but possible if one knows much about the arcane arts, and we both know that you do."

"That we do," the king agreed softly. "What does this form of magic do?"

"We all know that Riders live forever, Your Grace. However… they _can_ be killed in battle, no matter how powerful they are. Anything is possible. I believe this piece of magic is intended to make oneself immortal even in such a circumstance. It is called… a _Horcrux."_

* * *

They did not duel that night. Harry was still mentally exhausted, and they were all physically on the same path after a hard day of merciless riding across the plain. Harry, very slowly, got used to the feeling of only having one working eye, but it would take time for the sensation to truly settle. He was a lot calmer, however, from Brom's talk and the thinning out of any adrenaline previously in his bloodstream.

The result was his feeling tired beyond belief, and he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the bedroll. Brom was on the verge of waking him up again for food, but opted not to. He could eat in the morning, and was currently in more need of rest. Brom himself drifted off under Saphira's promise that she would keep an eye on Murtagh, and Eragon fell asleep almost as quickly as Harry had. Murtagh soon joined them in a deep slumber.

Eragon's dreams were troubled. He fell from the sky without Saphira underneath him, and screamed in fear as his body plummeted to earth like a massive boulder. He hit the ground, and found himself lying in a mysterious land of people with glasses and sticks at every glance. Dragons were fighting against each other for sport, and Harry's glum voice sounded out from beside him: 'welcome to my world…'

Suddenly, the dream shifted. He watched as a young woman, with raven-coloured hair, lay constrained upon a sinister-looking bench. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with high cheekbones, long eyelashes and round chin combining to give her an exotic look. However, her beauty was also heartbreak to look upon, for she was crying lightly. Eragon watched with horror as none other than Durza stood before her.

He slowly raised his palm above her forehead, and began to mutter low words in the Ancient Language. She clearly struggled, but finally began to scream in pain as he clenched his outstretched fist angrily. He was clearly assaulting her mind. Brutally. Eragon watched in horror, unable to rouse himself from this nightmare. She eventually stopped struggling, clearly mentally exhausted, and the Shade won out. However, he was not happy, and soon growled at her in fury.

"How can you _still_ resist me? I will break you," he hissed.

Suddenly, a low, echoing voice filled his ears, overruling the dream itself. It was not Saphira, and none of his companions either.

"_Eragon…"_

"_What? Who's there?" _he thought frantically, still unable to wake. The dream was blurred out, but he could still remember it vividly.

"_You must save her… he will kill her before you if you do not…" _

"_How?!" _he demanded frantically. _"I don't even know her name!"_

"_Her name… is Arya. Show this dream to Brom... he will know… Galbatorix leaves for Dras-Leona soon. Harry knows what must be done; Murtagh is your guide. Heed this warning, or the world will fall forever into darkness." _

"_Where is she?" _Eragon asked, determined.

"_Gil'ead…"_

With a start, Eragon awoke. He looked around frantically, but the others were still sleeping. Even Saphira had dropped off, although it was now very close to daylight. Determinably, he remembered the words in his mind, and moved to wake them up hastily. He didn't get a chance to ask if this was the same entity who had contacted Harry, but the meaning could not have been clearer.

They had work to do.

* * *

**A:N - I plan to write more of those Galbatorix sequences (not many, but one or two here and there), simply because I think a villain with no face is no true villain at all. **


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**A:N - Apologies for the long wait. This was a tough chapter to write, and, as you can see, a very long one as well. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen – Riot in Urû'baen**

"This is the most insane and ludicrous idea I have ever had the misfortune to hear," Brom grumbled angrily. He sat on a small rock, beside Harry on the ground, eyeing a pacing Eragon with annoyance. Murtagh lay on his bedroll, staring at the stars, but listening with intent. Saphira appeared to be sleeping, but they all knew better.

"What's so ludicrous about it?" Eragon asked, rushing his speech. "This woman 'Arya' must be important, or Durza would hardly be torturing her. We can't just let her die!"

"Eragon, you have to calm down," Harry said calmly, holding his hand up in reassurance, as Brom spluttered in annoyance at his idiotic question. "Take a deep breath, and tell us again."

Eragon ceased in his movements and sighed, knowing he needed to convince them properly, before nodding. "Okay," he began slowly. "I dreamt about her, Arya, being tortured by Durza in Gil'ead-"

"That's not what you said," Brom interrupted sharply. "You told us a mysterious _voice_ spoke to you and told you both her name and her location _after_ the vision occurred. Correct?"

"Yes!" Eragon exclaimed. "So what? We all know what happened the last time Harry was contacted by an entity in his mind. It may have saved his memory completely."

"That was different," Harry pointed out. Eragon had woken them all up in a flutter of excitement only minutes ago, and had relayed his story until he was out of breath. Brom was sceptical, and, Harry was unwilling to believe what he said, for one good reason. "When Fírnen contacted me I was wide awake, and my defences were activated. What you're describing to me sounds awfully similar to something I experienced a few years ago… something that resulted in the death of my only surviving family member," he finished quietly.

"Tell me what happened, if you will," Brom said gently.

Harry looked down for a moment, thinking of Sirius and his horrid mistake. It had been almost two and a half years ago, but it still brought him to the verge of tears, although it never quite broke him down entirely. "My connection with Voldemort was very powerful back then. I could feel his emotions, and they influenced me to an extent. Eventually he realised the possibility of using such an idea against me – that is, I could see what was happening inside his head – and I started to have… flashes. Visions, if you want.

"Some of them occurred in my dreams, and one even helped to save the life of a man I knew, but… he inevitably used it against me. I had a dream, where my godfather was being tortured before my eyes, and thought it was real. Voldemort made me believe it was a true vision, but it was merely false and implanted. I didn't know that, so I ran to try and 'save' him. It was a trap, and we all would have been killed if our allies hadn't shown up."

Harry sighed, thinking about that horrible night once again. The elevator, the endless rooms in the Department of Mysteries, the prophecy… the veil. It was as vivid as the memory of Durza blasting his eye into a dimension of uselessness, but that was expected.

"Sirius – my godfather – was one of the reinforcements. There was a battle, and he was killed," Harry finished weakly. He wanted to make it sound like Sirius had died a hero's death, but couldn't think of how to do so. He definitely had, in Harry's mind, and he deserved all the accolades and titles associated with any modern hero, not that Sirius would ever have agreed to receive such trivial snippets of fame.

Around them, the first rays of early sunlight began to flicker into existence, and the wind started to pick up ever so slightly around the same moment. Trees and grass waved to and fro, refreshing all with a calming breeze and a gentle touch of nature.

Brom shook his head. "I'm sorry to hear that, truly. But it doesn't change our situation. We head south east," he announced, extinguishing his pipe and standing up.

Eragon sighed, and rubbed the stubble on his face in aggravation. Harry absent-mindedly imitated him, noticing properly for the first time his newly-grown beard. It wasn't as impressive as Brom's, of course, but it was still much more prominent than it had been a year ago. He must have looked much older than eighteen to all other people.

"Brom, this voice also told me the king would be leaving Urû'baen shortly, and that Harry 'knows what must be done'. I think we all remember our conversation before Durza found us…" Eragon trailed off as Brom stiffened and turned once more to glare at him.

Harry also blinked in consideration, looking and feeling more thoughtful. If the king _was_ leaving the city would be breach-able, as would the fortress itself. It was sure to be guarded by a plethora of deadly magical traps and the brunt of Galbatorix's elite guards, but a powerful disillusionment charm and the nature of such an unexpected move would ensure the element of surprise was on their side. It was a better time than any to make a pass at the eggs. If Eragon's source was reliable, of course.

"There is no chance I'm letting you attempt something like that," Brom stated flatly, in a tone that booked no argument. "Your proposal to ride to Gil'ead is crazy enough, but this conversation is beginning to make me think you _want_ to get yourself killed."

Harry cleared his throat and they both looked at him. He needed to choose his words carefully here. "The problem is that we don't need your permission to go anywhere. When we left Carvahall we had an agreement to work together, and to accept your tutorage. That doesn't mean we _have_ to follow your orders."

Rather than get angry, Brom decided to remain calm. "So you'll just decide which to follow and which to disregard, is that it? This isn't about me controlling either of you, it's about your survival!"

Harry winced as he half-shouted the last four words directly towards him. He knew what they were proposing was riskier than anything so far, but recent events began to make him view the world differently. Durza had a fraction of the king's power, and he had overwhelmed Harry with the utmost ease. They needed an advantage, and this was it. Harry wouldn't let Brom stop him; he simply couldn't afford to be stopped at this point. He was turning into more of an activist than ever before, and that was saying something. It couldn't be understated, however: the fate of the world rested in their hands.

"Brom, we'll never have another opportunity like this," Harry implored quietly. "I've been working on a plan since our talk back in Teirm. I know how to use my own knowledge to help. All I need is the layout and an escape route."

Brom scoffed and shook his head, laughing without humour. "You need a hell of a lot more than that, boy. You need a bloody death wish while you're at it. Yes, the king will leave the fortress and fly to… wherever he's going. Let's take that under assumption, since we can't trust anything Eragon saw in his dreams. _You_ said that yourself. Why are you changing your mind so quickly?"

"I'm not," Harry admitted, scratching his head and smiling sheepishly, causing Brom to roll his eyes. "Is there a way we can check if Eragon's dream was real or not? That'll prove if the voice can be trusted, or if it was simply… well, a _dream._"

Against his better judgement, Brom reluctantly nodded. "Yes, there might be a way. There is a magical ability known as 'scrying', which allows a magician to view people or locations he has seen before. Essentially, it's a way of viewing another part of the land entirely."

"So we could just look at Gil'ead?" Harry asked simply.

Brom shook his head. "No, that wouldn't work because Eragon has never seen Gil'ead from the outside before. Scrying requires that the object in-question has been seen before by the caster, as you can't begin to guess what something or someone truly looks like. If you were to scry Durza, for example, you would see him as clear as day, but not the background if he is standing somewhere you have never visited. Likewise, you wouldn't be able to see the king at all, because neither of you have ever done so in real life. Does that make sense?"

Eragon nodded. "So, if the woman and jail cell appear when I attempt to scry them, it'll prove they're real because I've seen them before. Otherwise, it was just a dream."

"Precisely," Brom nodded. "And keep in mind that no magician has ever had visions in their dreams before, as far as I am aware. It is unheard-of and practically impossible."

"Well, that remains to be seen," Murtagh announced quietly, walking over and joining them for the first time. He didn't look tired at all, unlike Harry, who could probably have slept for a week if he was allowed. "I know what you want from me, and the answer is 'yes', provided the king is not there," he nodded at Harry, who returned the gesture gratefully.

"Really? You're willing to go back, just like that?" Brom asked with a raised eyebrow. "You have no qualms about returning to the place of your imprisonment and risking capture?"

Murtagh shook his head. "None at all. If I die trying to rescue dragon eggs, which I'm assuming is the only thing you'd even consider making this venture to obtain, then it'll be a worthy end to a man who wants to overthrow a tyrant. That's not to say I want to die, of course. I know the city very well, and the citadel itself. I grew up there, and the king didn't keep it as well-guarded as you might think. He preferred calm environments, although I don't doubt that will change in his absence. He'll also probably order the cessation of immigration whilst he's away, to ensure nothing like this is attempted."

"That's not an issue," Harry said calmly, shaking his head. "I have a better idea, and we can't spend days or even weeks riding there anyway. He could return before we arrive."

"Oh, what's this idea, then?" Brom asked with interest.

Harry held up his wand in reply and twirled it slightly, causing Brom to grimace.

"You shouldn't let magic solve all of your problems," he said sternly. "The first rule of magic is to know when _not_ to use it, and to stick by those guidelines. You don't want to create a magical dependency, although I suppose that's prevalent in your land anyway, since you don't exhaust yourself when casting a spell."

"Some rely too heavily on magic, but I do consider this a necessary time," Harry explained, thinking momentarily of the Weasleys. "Anyway, my plan is to cast a disillusionment charm over the four of us, and then something known as a 'featherlight charm'. I'm kicking myself for not thinking of it before, but better late than never."

"Hypothetically, would this spell render us all… weightless?" Murtagh asked, raising his eyebrows in appreciation.

Harry nodded, grinning. "It would mean Saphira could fly all four of us at once, and the woman too, once we find her. If that's permissible to you, Saphira?" he asked calmly, looking at her.

She had been lying there in the early sunlight dozily, her eyes closed and her mind open to their conversation, although she hadn't yet joined in. Without opening them, she briefly nodded and they each felt a ripple of approval reach their conscious minds. She didn't approve of the unnecessary danger, but she did know what Harry was planning, although it was extremely doubtful Brom would consent.

Voicing her thoughts, he said: "we have to split up as well. Murtagh and I can travel to Urû'baen, and then Saphira can carry you two onwards to Gil'ead."

"Are you barking mad?" Brom asked, not even bothering to laugh sardonically, as Eragon's eyes widened a little in surprise. "Not only have I already agreed to _not_ carry out this… plan, for want of a more accurate term, but why would I let us split up? More to the point, if we all fly there, what's to be done with the horses? Let them sit here and starve to death?"

Harry grimaced. "I have an idea about that, but you're not going to like it."

"I don't like any of this bloody idea…" Brom muttered, as Harry began to explain.

* * *

Galbatorix paced up and down the length of his throne room, feeling irritated. He had been considering the idea of the 'Horcrux' for a few hours now, but to no avail. Either Durza had forgotten to tell him something vital to the spell's manifestation, or he was simply missing a key component. He doubted it was the former, as Durza wouldn't have made such an obvious mistake. Then again, he had almost forgotten to tell him in the first place.

He stopped walking and grimaced, thinking about the Shade. Even with his newfound strength, he knew the Rider and his accomplices could defeat him in battle. It wouldn't be easy by any means, but it was definitely plausible. Durza was arrogant beforehand, but now he was even more pretentious than the king himself, although Galbatorix genuinely preferred to remain vigilant, as opposed to disdainful.

He ceased walking and sighed briefly, thinking about the upcoming battle. It was no concern of his. Either Durza would succeed, or he would fail and die. In any case, the Varden would know he meant business, and the Elves would worry about their own safety. He really ought to personally question the elven princess, but that could wait a little longer. None knew of her precarious position, whereas Tábor needed to be dealt with now. If he wasn't then the people would inevitably catch wind of what was happening. Soldiers would revolt over wages being lost due to a lack of funds from the capital, and the peasants would grow angry regarding the stoppage of trade.

Galbatorix scoffed lowly. Nobody could harm him, of that he was certain. The Eldunarí prevented even Vrael from besting him in combat, not to mention his own cunning. No, the problem wasn't his personal safety. It was his continuous desire for power. He was an ambitious man, and that showed itself in his ascension to the throne in the first place, not to mention the obvious desire to maintain that position. He didn't care about the welfare of the peasants themselves, but he did crave the loyalty and subjugation of the entire land.

His dream for the future was not to rule with an iron fist, but to form a nation of Dragon Riders and subjects who would rightfully revere them as Lords and Ladies, not the pathetic, unadventurous puppets of the old order. For that to occur, he needed the people to trust him, which was how his master-plan had been enacted. He had left the northern towns to crumble, and had sent out the message that the Varden were responsible. That it pained him to do so, but any crowns meant for their growth and development had been deterred, in order to help with the war effort.

Then, once the Varden, the elves and the dwarves were destroyed, he would swoop in on a white horse and announce the safety of the people, leading them to greater prosperity than ever seen before. They would cheer and salute him, and he would use the post-war time to form a bond of trust and 'friendship' with the everyday folk, letting them think he truly cared for them. That would have been the time for him to begin hatching the eggs, but the theft of one had now forced his hand. After it had been stolen he enlisted the help of the Ra'zac and had decided to create Durza, a feared and powerful servant.

He shook his head briefly to clear his thoughts. That dream was in the distant future now that the egg had been stolen. It had been many years ago, but the elves were crafty, and only recently had their convoy been discovered and ambushed, courtesy of the twins, traitors hidden in the Varden. When he was made aware of the egg's hatching… he had been filled with doubt. Using the Eldunarí as a blueprint, he had gently brushed the minds of the three unborn dragons years ago, and knew that only one was female, the one that had been stolen. He needed the Rider on his side, or the dragons could not breed and their race would be lost forever. His dream would be dead.

He growled. That could not happen. All of his work would be for nought. The only reason he wasn't flying southeast to join the battle immediately involved top secret projects and knowledge. If he could discern the true name of the Ancient Language – and he was close, oh-so close – then he would have no need to battle anybody. All enemies of his rightful rule would be swatted like flies, and he would have the Rider's allegiance in a heartbeat, whether voluntary or not.

Galbatorix smirked. The battle was nothing but a front and an attempt to cripple Ajihad's forces. Orrin was weak, which was why he would leave Surda until after the elves were dispatched. Damn their enchantments and wards. He could not scry their cities, and had now forgotten their locations through no fault of his own. It was quite intolerable that he should forget _anything_, not least something so important on the whim of very feeble magicians. Once he had the Word at his disposal, he would slaughter all who stood against him.

But for now, he remained in his personal fortress, ruling the kingdom, fighting a war, and diving into the secrets of the arcane arts. He has learned much, but not enough to satisfy a hungry mind. Now, it annoyed him that this rare piece of magic could elude and mystify his understanding, which soon became another reason he wanted the other boy, _Harry,_ on his side. His magic was unheard-of, even to the king. It was a goldmine of power and knowledge that Galbatorix intended to exploit, by any means necessary.

At the thought of fighting a war, he began to pace again, arms held against his chest and lower face in an expression of deliberation. Almost nobody knew about the existence of the Eastern Empire, far across the desert and past the Beor Mountains. The people there were strong, having migrated from Alagaёsia as merchants and settlers many centuries ago. They had formed cities along the coastline there, and survived on a luxurious diet of mining gold and trading spices. Their trading partners were colonies across the sea, which absolutely nobody in Alagaёsia knew about, save Galbatorix. His ventures many decades ago had led him to that mysterious land, known collectively as Canderin.

The Canderins spoke the common tongue, being descendants of migrants, but were wary of strangers. They had flourished in their new home, free from Urgals and the Ra'zac, not to mention the strangling grasp of the Riders over their freedom, as Galbatorix saw it. Their prowess was quite substantial – almost a thousand years of solitude and liberty had helped them create a conquering army of over five hundred thousand, although that was only the soldiers available in Canderin itself. The others, countless legions, fought overseas against peoples Galbatorix had never met, and quite frankly, didn't care about. They didn't bother him or his rule, and he would return the favour until the new Rider Order was established, at which time he fully intended to 'expand', as it were.

They had never invaded Alagaёsia for one sole reason: they believed the Riders were still at the height of their power, and rightly feared defeat at their hands. Galbatorix had to admit that the Order itself had proved useful in maintaining that ruse, even after the demise of every member.

He was certain no Riders existed east of the Hadarac Desert, but their armies were obviously formidable. He could not defeat them in a war yet, which was why he had never attempted to. Of course, they were no match for him personally, but the land would be swamped and his kingdom would be destroyed. Instead, he formed a quiet alliance with the leader of their people, and they had decreed never to cross into each other's territory, which left Alagaёsia with the entire width of the desert sands. Maybe the elves knew of their existence, but he doubted that fact. Even after the desert, it was a long journey to reach Canderin, unless on dragon-back.

Suddenly, the king turned and walked down an ornate hallway lined with torches. He walked for several minutes, directing along the twists and turns of the palace simplistically. He would leave for Dras-Leona soon. This must be done beforehand. As he reached a handsome door lined with wards, it swung open at the feel of his magic and the wards deactivated. He walked inside, approaching the scrying pool slowly. It was a marble fount, several metres in diameter, and filled with clear water.

Galbatorix reached for his magic and waved a hand lazily, casting the verbal spell. For a moment all was dark, until the frame of a young man appeared on the surface. His skin was dark in colour, although not as brown as that of Ajihad. It was halfway between pale and quite dark, a native feature of Canderin. He wore robes of red and white silk, and smiled as the king appeared on his own reflective surface. Galbatorix returned the gesture, although it was more of a leer on his part.

"What can I do for you, my lord?" the young man asked, showing the golden-plated tooth that he sported. The king never understood why – such trivial designs looked horrific, in his opinion.

"Alder, I am not disturbing you, am I?" Galbatorix asked slowly and deliberately, sounding just a little sarcastic.

Alder shook his head, smiling widely. The king remembered with a barely-concealed sneer that this man was the 'king' of all Canderin, and yet he couldn't be older than five and twenty. His dark hair was quite ridiculous – it sat high and wide on his head, and was embroiled with many golden bangles and other pieces of jewellery.

"Good. I have a favour to ask of you, and I would give you much in return," Galbatorix announced lowly, eying the man with a neutral expression.

Alder's eyes widened ever-so-slightly in surprise. "You know we do not have dealings with your people, my king. We will not provide soldiers to help you squash those little insects you fight, and we will not sell you weapons of any kind. We dare not risk open war with the Dragon Riders."

Galbatorix's eyes flashed a little, and his fist tightened. "I assure you it is worth your while… my _lord._ I have recently discovered a new form of magic that no man has ever before seen in this land, not even the Riders themselves. It has its own secrets, and I am willing to share them. Otherwise I would never have contacted you in this manner."

Alder raised an eyebrow, licking his lips briefly. "What makes this magic different? Is it more powerful?"

"It is… powerful in its own way," he answered carefully. "Some elements exceed our own variety, whereas others fall short. Both could be put together to form an all-powerful combination. But it does have one distinct advantage over the Ancient Language."

"Oh?" Alder asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It requires no personal energy to cast a spell, but merely the correct words. In the endearment of a peasant: one could cast indefinitely without fail."

Alder's eyes widened, this time in appreciation. "I trust you to not lie to me, my friend, based on your arrangement with my forefathers. If you can provide evidence of this magic at work and agree to share the knowledge, we will provide you with whatever you need. An exception can be made for so… _exotic_ a deal."

Galbatorix nodded, feeling satisfied. The magicians of Canderin were powerful, and he had no desire to become locked in a titanic power struggle with them, not that they could stop him. He couldn't attempt to manipulate this man by controlling his mind, or they would discover the act and invade. That wouldn't end well for any party involved. For that reason alone he kept the existence of the land a secret from even Durza, and would rely on bartering. He would never have bent low and asked for help under any other circumstances, but this could be swung as two allies helping one another instead, so it was permissible.

"I want a dozen of your finest magicians as soon as they can travel here, and I require one hundred thousand of your best swords," Galbatorix answered, watching his reaction carefully.

Alder nodded with hesitation. "The magicians can be dispatched immediately, but the soldiers will take a lot more time. Journeying through that hot wasteland and beyond requires many provisions, and you know how vast my own land is to boot. You can expect the spell-casters to arrive in ten days, as they move much faster than ordinary men and are self-sufficient. The army… well, it has to be mustered, armed and stocked with supplies. That, as well as the trek… six months, at the earliest."

Galbatorix shook his head. "You misunderstand me, my friend. I do not desire their presence _here_ unless it becomes absolutely necessary. My own army will suffice in crushing the Varden. No, I have another task for them. One which is both equally dangerous and lucrative. They will need magicians, powerful ones, and any woodsmen skilled enough to guide them through a vast forest."

"Ah… so it's Du Weldenvarden," Alder said, nodding immediately in understanding. "I see why they will require magicians. The elves are powerful."

"This new form of magic is a threat to my sovereign rule," the king said quietly. "I cannot afford to let them align with the elves in full. _Do_ _not_ attack them directly. Scout their bases and cities out, but be wary of their enchantments. Lie low. Wait for them to move their army, and then cut them down from behind. It may take months, but be patient. With your men stalking the forest and mine attacking on all fronts, my enemies will have nowhere to hide. I also ask that you do not request to see these dozen magicians ever again."

"Why… what are you planning to do with them?" Alder asked hesitantly, feeling intimidated suddenly.

Galbatorix smirked, thinking of Durza and the Forsworn. They had been an irreplaceable force, but a dozen Shades at his disposal would work nicely. This boy Harry was quite unpredictable in his own strength, and he could take no chances on his own part. Durza said he could become more powerful than the Rider himself, and that had the king a little concerned. He needed to flush the boy out through brute force. And the stronger the magician, the stronger the Shade tended to be, although much also depended on the spirits conjured. Canderin's finest would be perfect for the roles. He may not know how to create a 'Horcrux', but he could still use death itself as a weapon.

"Do not concern yourself with that, my friend. But do not tell them that I plan to do _anything," _he ordered sharply. "Understand?"

Alder nodded slowly, and clasped his hands together, blowing dramatically. "Well, this is a truly exciting time. The nations across the sea are giving our forces much trouble, I'm afraid. More powerful spells will certainly aid us in our time of need, as we shall aid you in yours. What you ask will be done, my friend. I do say, however, that the army may still require several months to prepare, so six is quite optimistic."

"Good," Galbatorix said happily, nodding in appreciation. The time delay was annoying, but this would be worth the wait. "I only ask one more thing; if the Varden ever discover your existence, do not attack them. Lure them into a false sense of security, and deliver them to me personally."

After that, he ended the spell and left the room quietly, as a ghost. He quickly found some parchment and wrote an important missive, ordering the implementation of conscription amongst men aged between sixteen and forty five. Satisfied at the order, he signed it and imbued it with the royal stamp, before rolling the parchment up carefully and copying the order several times by hand. He left to go find the newly-promoted General Nyos, the man who was now in charge of the city's security, courtesy of the previous commander getting fatally stabbed in an ill-timed encounter with a lady of the night.

He smirked to himself as he did so. One hundred thousand elite warriors to cut at the elves from the rear, the rapid growth of his own forces through conscription, an ultra-powerful Shade and another dozen to arrive in quick order, plus the inevitable hatching of the eggs and his nearing discovery of how to create a Horcrux, not to mention the Name itself. No soldiers of Canderin would ever enter Alagaёsia under his watch, whether to help or to hinder the efforts of his own army, he swore to himself. He had absolutely no intention to honour his side of he bargain, either. Once he had the three new Riders under his command, the Horcrux and the Word, he would be unstoppable. A large chunk of their forces would be scattered in Du Weldenvarden, and then he would strike. They would bend the knee, or he would crush them into dust.

It was a matter of personal pride for Galbatorix to not trust any other man, although one may justly call it vanity. The Canderins could decide it was 'too nice to leave' and he simply couldn't have that. He would destroy them if ever they interfered with the land and how it was maintained.

However, even without their help in the war itself, he truly was invincible now…

Or so he arrogantly thought.

* * *

Nyos walked along the cobbled streets of the capital miserably, feeling both exhausted and irritated simultaneously, never a pleasant combination for a magician, especially if he happened to be a powerful general in the Empire's forces.

He grimaced at that thought. He truly despised the Empire. He had joined twenty years ago, at the tender age of sixteen. Or rather, had been forced to join. A group of soldiers had been conscripting youngsters to help battle a newly-discovered Urgal army, and he had been one of the joyous 'volunteers.' What they pounded into his head was the idea that his family would be murdered if ever he attempted to flee, and the skin would be flayed from his body until he died in a shower of blood and pain.

_That particular image has stuck with me_, he thought grimly, rubbing a bead of sweat off his forehead. The blasted armour he wore was terrible in the stifling heat, and several of his men had already passed out from heatstroke.

He had never wanted the promotion to general, but Durza had 'insisted' after his efforts in capturing the boy. That was something he would undo if possible. The lad had been stabbed, but who knew why? He could have been an innocent bystander in some terrible crime; otherwise, why would the assailant have fled?

No, he had cursed himself viciously for his part in helping the Shade. He had hoped Durza would have healed the boy, and maybe recruited him. What had happened… it defied all vestiges of humanity, and Nyos felt sickened at his role in the act occurring.

But still, the past was the past, and the future both excited and frightened him. The letter had arrived only yesterday. Mara and Thalen, his wife and son, were both safe at last. They had fled their home in Teirm after some horrific battle between the Shade and his quarry had taken place only recently. According to official reports and tradesmen's gossip, there was a mass exodus taking place in the small ocean city after the event. But he only cared about two of those people, and now they were safe. They had taken a ship south, to Feinster, from where they would travel southeast until they reached the safety of Aberon.

It was time for Nyos to join them. This charade had gone on for long enough. His parents had long since died of the pox, and they were all he had left. His increased status of general would make his absence much more noticeable, but it also granted him the authority to travel wherever he wanted. And with the king having left the city several hours ago, it was the perfect time to flee. He had been waiting many years for this chance, and he now intended to take it with grasping hands and a clear conscience.

Nyos had burned the most recent royal missive in disgust, although he doubted it would have an effect, save the slowing-down of Galbatorix's operation. Technically, with Durza in Gil'ead, he was now in charge of the city itself. He didn't take on the roles of an administrator, but merely waited for the cover of darkness before slipping away quickly. Durza's horrific act was the last straw, and that order for conscription only added insult to injury. It reminded him of his own enslavement years ago.

Hells, he would even consider joining the Varden, if he wasn't done with fighting. A simple and peaceful life as a blacksmith awaited him, his possible future before being conscripted. Thalen was now sixteen, so he could help with the work. He smiled at that happy image. Nyos didn't have much time to spend with his family, save the annual year's leave for all soldiers. The only reason he hadn't fled in one of those periods was that the Empire had deliberately taken half of each soldier's money until he returned, to deter such deserters.

A metallic gong sounded loudly from the centre of the city, signalling a changing of the guard, and he turned to a watchman nearby, removing his helmet.

"Tell your captain I'm retiring for the night, soldier. I'm not to be disturbed unless it's an emergency; is that clear?" he ordered.

The young soldier nodded hastily, and saluted as Nyos walked away. He looked over his shoulder with mild nervousness and headed for the small residence he temporarily lived in, the privilege of his newfound prestige. Nyos scoffed. They would probably burn it to the ground when he was discovered missing. He slowly opened the door and shut it behind him, casting the room into darkness.

"Brisingr", he muttered, illuminating the torches lining the walls one-by-one.

Moving with a purpose, he began to remove his armour for the last ever time and replace it with the attire of a typical traveller, including a hood and cloak to mask his facial appearance. He ensured his travelling gear was secure, including quite a few crowns he had cheekily stolen from the royal treasury only that day, and re-equipped his sword, placing the steel round-shield across his back.

The next step was to reach the stables and steal a horse. He could dress in his armour and 'commandeer' one of the steeds, but the less they knew about his escape the better. With any luck the city watch would think him murdered and disposed of in the city's sewer system, which was quite extensive. It had happened to the last commander, so why not him?

However, he froze as his hand rested on the door handle.

As a magician, he could feel he presence of others, but as a well-seasoned and slightly paranoid soldier, he always kept his reach expanded beyond the feel of any normal spell caster. He, unlike many of the king's magicians and possibly the king himself, had an ability to naturally detect distinct magical presences without having to probe any minds, something which had aided him greatly in magical combat. And one of those presences, non-human, was flying rapidly towards the city, accompanied by three others.

* * *

"_Okay, Saphira, keep as high as you can,"_ Eragon said calmly.

The magnificent sapphire dragon floated atop the clouds with grace, cutting through the air with her powerful wings. The four of them were practically weightless on her back, and Harry had also cast the charm on her, increasing her speed and manoeuvrability exponentially. The result was that she had reached the capital in only a few short hours, after they were certain the king had left.

They knew he had done so by chance alone. Brom had been examining Murtagh's memories of the fortress in an effort to learn more about the layout, when Harry had suggested Brom scry the memory. Such a thing was possible as Brom had now viewed the image himself, and thus it was now technically one of his own memories.

Brom, who had been convinced of the plan only by Harry's ingenuity regarding how he intended to disrupt the king's wards, had been impressed at the idea and done so quickly. Brom and Murtagh had frozen when the king appeared in their vision, giving a written order to some fancy general that Murtagh had obviously seen before, but couldn't place, before telling him he would be in charge until the king returned. Starting in the next hour. That had meant only one thing, and they were amazed at their luck.

In truth, Brom would never have agreed if Harry hadn't threatened to go alone with Eragon and Murtagh. He didn't fear the boy would do something rash, but was actually rather impressed at his courage after the events of Teirm and their discussion the very next night. The bravado had rubbed off on him a little. He doubted many of the plan's intricacies, but had to grudgingly admit Harry was right – they would _never_ again have another opportunity like this. And since Eragon was not staying in the capital, it was worth the risk.

On the impulse of security, Harry had cast the planned supersensory charm on his eye before take-off and had tested it out by having Murtagh swing just beside his right cheek from behind. He hadn't seen the halted blow, but had felt it even quicker than he would have noticed it with a functioning eye. He was also aware of Brom and Eragon's magical auras due to the highly-powered sensor element, and could detect when magic was cast nearby. It was satisfactory, although he doubted it would ever be the same as proper vision.

Harry knew this plan was beyond dangerous, but he simply didn't care anymore. He was feeling reckless, and although that would eventually dissipate, he intended to put it into action as long as the feeling remained. He was a Gryffindor, and would most certainly display such bravery with relative normalcy, not to mention the tendency to act without thinking. But in this occasion he had actually thought quite a lot.

He and Murtagh would sneak past the guards with stealth, if they could, and with stunning spells and fists, if they could not. From there Murtagh would lead him to the throne room, and Harry would work on disabling the wards set along the corridor leading to Galbatorix's treasure room. He would probably need a lot of time to break through the highly advanced defences, but was confident such a thing was possible. Dispelling wards required concentration and intelligence, but not necessarily strength. If there were any gaps or mistakes between the enchantments, he could rip them apart with relative ease. Professor Flitwick had been a true master of wards, and had taught his sixth year students advanced shielding and dispelling in preparation for the inevitable second war. The type of magic was different, but the principle was identical. Harry had simply never had to use the skills until now, unless one counted the wards cast on the tent over a year ago.

Brom had been adamant that he help with this process, but Harry had argued him down, stating that, if anything went wrong, he needed to stay with Eragon in order to continue his training. And since Murtagh alone knew the layout of the castle, the two of them had to travel to Gil'ead to rescue the elf. Brom had finally relented and told them she was the courier of Saphira's egg, as well as an elven princess.

Harry and Eragon would hear no more complaints after that, and thankfully Brom did not deign to offer any. Since the king had left Urû'baen together with Shruikan, the worst they would encounter were diligent magicians and 'booby traps', as Harry had called them. Eragon pointed out the trip to Gil'ead would actually be more dangerous if the Shade was there, but Harry had another idea regarding that eventuality.

"If he is still there, just stay out of sight. He'll see right through the disillusionment charms." He grinned. "But, I get the feeling the king has alarms placed around these wards, and they'll start to sound once the magic is tripped. After every ward has been deactivated, I guarantee the king will start to fly back in a panic and he'll send the Shade ahead of himself. Durza seems to be able to move around at great speed, somehow."

"That… sounds rather disheartening," Murtagh stated flatly.

"It does," Harry had admitted, "but I might need a couple of hours to disable the wards. If I time it correctly, hopefully they'll be removed just as Brom and Eragon reach Gil'ead. Then, the Shade will rush here, and they'll be clear to free the elf."

"It sounds awfully risky," Brom had warned. "There's only a very slim chance your timing will be that exact, and even if it is, you have no way of predicting how fast the Shade can travel to your location. He could be on top of you in minutes."

"It's a risk, but we don't intend to stick around after grabbing the eggs," Harry replied, nodding. "Mark out a spot along the Ramr River on the map and we can meet there in a day or two. The featherlight charms should last until then, but if they don't I'm sure Saphira will be able to carry you two and the elf safely enough. And don't worry, the horses will be safe," he added, holding up a reassuring hand as Brom opened his mouth to undoubtedly inquire of the animals again.

Now they flew over the top of the dreaded capital, and Brom had to admit the boy's plan was rather ingenious. He had the fine makings of a potential commander in the future if he could maintain discipline among the ranks. His strategic mind was admirable and his proficiency in combat was evident for all to see. Brom still considered the whole venture a very risky business, but it was nevertheless warranted in so dire a situation. They needed the eggs on their side, and Arya simply couldn't be allowed to die. The effect on the Varden-elven relationship would be disastrous, possibly escalating to the point of civil war.

Harry breathed lightly as the cold air lashed at him through the warmth of his travelling cloak. He could see the vapour from his mouth appear in a fine mist and disappear rapidly as Saphira sailed forwards. The four of them sitting on her back had been unusual at first, until Harry replicated the saddle that Eragon used thrice and attached them together so that no one would fall off to an untimely death. Saphira, for her part, found it odd that the humans weighed virtually nothing, and she ghosted through the night as a dazzling spectre, invisible to all. It was quite unnerving to be sitting on top when she was practically hidden from sight, but they clung on tightly and tried not to think about that. Or look down.

"_Okay,"_ Harry said mentally, looking through the clouds below. Years on a broom had easily quelled his fear of heights, although that had never really existed, in fairness. He loved the open sky and the feeling of freedom. _"Bring us down gently. They can't see you, but they'll hear your wings if we're not careful."_

Saphira responded with a low growl of acknowledgement and began to turn downwards in a corkscrew motion, silently and slowly gliding towards the ground. No one even glanced twice in their direction as she cleared the clouds obscuring them from below, the night and disillusionment charms combining to create a near state of invisibility.

"_Head for the centre of the city. You'll know the castle when you see it," _Murtagh said mentally.

Eragon held on tightly as Saphira flew towards the centre of the Empire itself. He felt quite nervous. This was the king's territory, and he had a price on Eragon's capture. If they were captured the freedom fighters would be finished, whether human, elvish or dwarven. The king may be gone, but there were surely some nasty traps laying in wait. He was just glad that his source had proved accurate through their scrying of Arya and the king himself. It meant he wasn't going crazy, but it did mean something strange was afoot. Who or what had contacted him?

_I can ponder this later,_ he thought stubbornly. _There are more pressing matters at hand. _

The walls of the massive city were at least three hundred feet in height, and lined with an assortment of war machines, catapults and ballista, undoubtedly the culmination of ever-increasing fear of attack on the part of the Varden, not to mention Galbatorix's desire to protect the eggs he had hidden. The city itself was filled with buildings hastily erected in the guise of Empirical design, but there were also a few rarities present. Half a dozen large towers were clearly of a different make, and appeared to be much older than the bulk of the capital. They had been formed from a peculiar green stone that Harry could not place, but they looked far more graceful than any building of human architecture.

"_Elven design," _Brom replied to his query. _"This entire city was made by the elves many centuries ago, and was known as Ilirea in the Ancient Language. After the king defeated the Riders he claimed the city and began to reshape its structure, including the name. Now shut up and focus on the task at hand." _

Harry grimaced and did as he was told, continuing to examine the city before him. Uncountable farms and estates littered the countryside surrounding the high walls, but exact details escaped him in the encompassing blackness of the night. One other thing he was able to see, however, was the castle in which Murtagh had grown up. It was absolutely breathtaking; it far exceeded the height of the city, which was an amazing endeavour in itself. But even more impressive were the numerous parapets and spires which adorned the citadel itself, placing the thought firmly in Harry's mind that this castle far exceeded Hogwarts in its size. They almost touched the massive overhang of rock that loomed over the city from the hills nearby.

He could be wrong, of course. The darkness and nervousness that he felt combined could be playing tricks on his eyes, but the bulk of the citadel was truly intimidating. He would be breaking into it in mere minutes, a suicidal venture in the eyes of many. True, the king and his dragon were absent, as was Durza, but the soldiers sure to be on-patrol would pose a gaping problem alone. And the traps…

As Saphira flew lightly over the top of the walls, many stationed archers looked up in surprise, feeling the air swishing over them, but thankfully were unable to see her, courtesy of the disillusionment charm. Harry watched the twisting streets and numerous buildings carefully, keeping… well… _an eye_ on the companies of soldiers in particular. They buzzed to and fro, although only a skeletal amount patrolled currently. The walls were the city's first line of defence, so any squads to be seen were only meant to discourage flouters of the enforced curfew. He could spot no more than a couple of hundred on-duty.

"_That looks like a good spot," _Brom told Saphira gently, pointing towards a deserted marketplace.

Before she landed, Harry searched for hidden signs of human life, but was unable to find anything. With a slight grunt, he lowered himself from Saphira and jumped to the ground when she was only a few feet in the air. He felt stiff and uncomfortable; the featherlight charm had decreased his weight dramatically, but not altered his bodily functions.

With a barely noticeable thud, Murtagh joined him on the ground. He looked around and sighed lowly.

"_Just when I thought I was rid of this miserable place forever…" _

"_Be safe," _Harry mentally told the trio above him, ignoring Murtagh's comment. He patted Saphira's leg hesitantly, hoping this wasn't a huge mistake. Any outsider would certainly view it as such.

"_And you," _Eragon nodded. _"Take care of those horses!" _

"_I will," _Harry grinned, knowing that Brom still didn't approve of what he had done.

Brom grumbled slightly and told Saphira to take off. Harry watched them flying north for a few moments. The darkness and charm soon made them invisible to his naked eye, and before long they were also out of range in terms of mind-reading, such was Saphira's increased speed. Grimacing, Harry turned to find Murtagh also looking up.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly.

Murtagh turned his gaze to Harry and nodded. "As much as I ever will be."

"Good," Harry said, half-whispering. He silently drew Nϋrfan and cast a silencing charm over the quiver of arrows on his back, as well as Aiedail at his hip, before repeating the motion for Murtagh's sword. The effect would allow them to move silently, but if he wanted to fire an arrow it would also make no noise… until the target screamed, of course. But that would be a last resort. Stunners would be much more efficient.

Murtagh led him through the city quietly, having slightly opened his mind for communication. It was a skill he would have kept hidden, but he wanted to trust this group and desired their trust in return. This would certainly go someway to helping solidify that feeling in all of their minds.

If they succeeded.

They avoided the main contingent of soldiers present in the city with relative ease. Being almost invisible did tend to help on that account. The only time in which they were given cause for alarm was when passing a string of inns, all of which were shut for the night. A group of guards had rounded the corner and shouted:

"You there! Halt!"

They had frozen, hands going instinctively to their weapons, until the soldiers suddenly ran past them. Harry looked around and saw that they were chasing a disgruntled man, probably a thief. He had breathed a sigh of relief and Murtagh rubbed his brow.

"That could have been worse," he said with attempted humour.

Murtagh grimaced. "Try telling me that again when my heart slows a little. I thought for sure they had seen us."

"Maybe we should keep off the main roads from now on," Harry suggested, but Murtagh only clicked his tongue.

"What for? It's right around this bend," he said, indicating the street that lay in front of them. It looped around to the left, through a group of what Harry now noticed were armouries and barracks. He hadn't realised they were so close, even though the citadel hung in the sky right before him. It was so large it seemed to play tricks on his sense of perception.

The majority of the soldiers were sure to be resting, but on high alert at the same time. Unless their commander was completely inept, they would surely come running as soon as the alarm was sounded. They simply _could not_ afford to be seen. Even with Harry's magic they would never make it out alive.

Harry was on-edge as they crossed even this relatively small section of the city. The stealth they were employing was more extensive than anything the city watchmen would ever have seen, but a part of him was worried that somebody had simply planted those visions in Eragon's mind. He had wrestled with that notion since Saphira had taken off, but had finally relented and convinced himself that the memory wouldn't have been… 'scry-able' if that were the case.

_Unless the king hasn't really left, and has planned this whole venture as a trap. It does seem too easy, even with the charms enabled._

He pushed that morbid thought aside and felt his eyes widen as they walked silently down the cobbled street. The sign of an inn creaked overhead, but he ignored it. What he saw would capture his attention in most situations. The gates to the citadel, although locked, were astoundingly massive. Harry was positive that three of Saphira could easily walk through side-by-side, and he swallowed as he figured out why they were so large.

Murtagh nodded, smiling grimly. "Yes… any smaller and Shruikan would not be able to fit. Daunting, isn't it?"

"Terrifying, more like," Harry whispered, unable to draw his eyes from the cavernous point of entry. Perhaps he should have planned even more rigorously. The building was more secure-looking than Hogwarts. How the hell were they going to get in there?

"_Guard's entrance," _Murtagh said mentally in response to his unasked query. _"It'll be tough, but it's the only option. And we should only speak like this from now on." _

Murtagh hunkered down and motioned for Harry to do the same. Quickly and quietly, they crept forward, stopping only to hide behind the wall of an inn as a squad of guards passed them by. There were a dozen watchmen atop the gate's stone frame, but they couldn't see anything at such a height with the charms in place. When they reached the formidable shadow of the gates, Murtagh deviated and led Harry around to the right. They walked in a curve for what seemed a good five minutes before reaching a smaller door connected to the inner wall of the citadel.

It was barricaded and reinforced heavily with steel in case of any assault, but was relatively small in order to bottleneck any opposing force. Harry also noted the positioning of a barracks to his rear. If anyone attempted to storm this door, they would surely be caught in a deadly crossfire of arrows from above and behind. It was both very intelligent and intrinsically strategic.

"_Do you plan to just bang on the door and let them come running?" _Harry asked jokingly.

Murtagh half-chuckled and half-scoffed. _"They wouldn't. They would investigate from above and then do nothing when they can't see us." _

"_You're absolutely right," _Harry replied casually_. "Are there people in those buildings?"_

Murtagh looked towards the area he pointed. It was a series of armouries for the local collective of soldiers, probably guarded but unlikely to house anybody on a permanent basis. He noticed the many murder holes and spikes along the rooftop, and couldn't understand what Harry had planned. Surely he didn't intend to _jump_ over the citadel walls?

"_Perhaps a soldier or two, but I don't see what-"_

His words were lost as Harry drew his wand. He eyed it carefully and looked towards the armoury yet again. He had a distinct impression this wouldn't end well.

Harry glanced at him. _"We should probably flatten ourselves against the walls. There's going to be a lot of running in a moment." _

"_What about the alarm?" _Murtagh quickly asked, sounding worried.

"_It'll be a distraction so we can sneak in." _

Before trying anything, Harry cast a revealing charm on the armoury, and was pleased there was no one inside. He wasn't afraid to kill if necessary anymore, but it still rather disgusted him, and this would be a horrible way to die for anyone.

Harry took his position against the citadel wall, feeling the cold stone lightly brush against his neck. He pointed the wand towards the armoury nearby, ensuring his aim was correct as such a shot would be difficult enough with two eyes, let alone one. When he was confident, he took a deep breath and non-verbally cast the spell.

"_Incendio maxima!" _

With a roar much like that of a dragon itself, the interior of the armoury exploded in a wave of fire. The night was suddenly alight, the darkness cast aside by the rushing power of flames. They quickly began to devour the interior, and something inside must have been flammable, for there was what sounded like a miniature explosion, and tongues of fire whooshed through the rotted windows.

Murtagh let out a loud breath as several crates and boxes of weapons started to catch fire. On cue, a loud trumpet began to sound from the ramparts above their heads, and the air was suddenly full of panicked shouts. The doors to the barracks were instantly thrust open, and soldiers began to pile out, carrying pails of water present for such an emergency. Other quarters were also alerted, and the streets were suddenly packed with half-dressed guards shouting themselves hoarse and trying to put out the roaring inferno.

"_Perfect. Just what we need," _Harry said with determination.

"_How does this help us? The door to the citadel is still locked! All you've succeeded in doing is possibly burning down the entire city!" _Murtagh exclaimed, sounding panicked.

"_The spell will exhaust itself before that happens. I put a certain amount of energy into the incantation,"_ Harry explained. He quickly motioned with his mind for Murtagh to follow him, and the two of them rushed into the now-derelict barracks.

It was rather messy, not that they could be surprised. The smell of smoke reached their nostrils from the outside, and Harry knew they had to hurry. Murtagh relayed amusement at Harry's plan, and quickly donned the first set of imperial robes he came across. Even the Empire's commanders weren't cruel enough to make soldiers parade around at night in full armour, so they relented and let the men dress in hard leather instead, emblazoned with the king's insignia and crafted to resist any minor attacks.

Harry had to un-equip and re-equip his weapons to complete the task. Once both of them were dressed properly, he took their clothes and placed them into the small leather pouch he carried, magically crafted to carry objects much larger than its size. He then removed the disillusionment charm from the pair of them, and they quickly hurried outside.

With a nervous look to his right, he saw that the grass separating two of the armouries had caught fire, and the building in question soon joined its compatriot. Before long there were two towering infernos, and the panicking redoubled. Men were afraid to approach the roaring furnace, as water seemed to have little effect. It wasn't fiendfyre, but the flames were so hot it would take a lot to contain them. Harry was certainly grateful there were no houses nearby. No one even glanced in their direction. Soldiers were too busy screaming themselves hoarse at their underlings and furiously relaying orders.

With feigned confidence, they strode up to the door. Murtagh banged his fist several times on the steel frame, wincing slightly at the impact. The door didn't open, but a small flap did, and a pair of hard eyes stared out at them.

Harry stood up straighter. _Time to use some of that Gryffindor bravado. _"We need more men," he declared, sounding urgent. "The fire is proving impossible to contain!"

The guard's eyes hardened. "You know the rules, soldier. I can't open the door until you give me the code!"

Harry glanced hurriedly at Murtagh, who shrugged urgently.

"Oh, to hell with this," Harry muttered irritably. He pulled out his wand and rapidly whipped it into the face that he could see. _"Imperio!" _

The man's eyes suddenly became unfocused. Harry ordered him to open the door, which he did. He heard calls from inside.

"Biros, what the hell are you doing? They didn't give you the code!"

Harry strode into the room confidently and dispatched the two other soldiers present with stunning spells as they jumped to their feet from the table nearby. He stunned the guard at the door and quickly told Murtagh to lock it again, before 'obliviating' the unconscious soldiers.

"Cowards," Murtagh spat. "Too afraid to go out and help, most likely."

"Well, they helped _us_ and that's all that matters," Harry declared. "Which way?"

"We go straight up," Murtagh declared, leading Harry quickly up the stone staircase. A few candles were all that provided the light up the height of the tower. "Once on the rampart we can find a way into the courtyard. I think the main doors to the castle will be opened with all the commotion."

"Or we could just jump down," Harry suggested simply, casting the disillusionment charm on them both once again.

Murtagh grinned. "I hoped you would suggest that."

Harry smirked and shook his head in false disbelief as they climbed for what seemed an eternity. The walls here were equally as massive as those surrounding the city itself, so they were running upwards for around three hundred feet. Even featherlight, it took quite a while. The sounds of panic and wafting smoke from the outside faded as they got higher, but then began to redouble once more as they reached an open door.

Walking outside, Harry marvelled at the sight before him. He could see the entire city from this position. It seemed the world below was dotted with thousands of irregular and square buildings, some with smoke emanating from their chimneys. And that was to say nothing of the smoulder detaching itself from the fire below. From his point of view several of the buildings were splashed with a mixture of orange and red, and a dark cloud of black ash stretched out in every direction, similar to a volcanic eruption.

He coughed when it reached them, but dispersed the fumes with a wave of his wand. Several archers were leaning over the edge of the walkway, transfixed by what they could see, and panicky as they viewed the progress of the fire, pointing out buildings in danger and arguing with each other about the safety of the housing districts. Murtagh tugged at his arm.

"_Okay, are you ready?"_

Despite himself, Harry grinned madly. _"Quite. Let's go!" _

With his heart pounding, he jumped over the wall along with Murtagh at his side. They plummeted for mere moments before the featherlight charms kicked-in, and then floated gracefully to the ground below. The courtyard was buzzing with activity. Soldiers were readying the catapults under orders from an estranged captain, undoubtedly thinking they were being attacked, and weapons were being handed out.

Several engineers were pointing at different areas on a local map of the city and arguing heatedly about how to evacuate people if necessary. The duo slipped away before the confrontation could turn violent. Murtagh was right in saying the doors were opened, although Harry wasn't sure if 'doors' was an accurate term. Perhaps 'caverns', so large were the impending points of entry.

They hastily moved to the entrance, thankful that no one could physically catch a glimpse of their movements. Harry froze as they reached the threshold, however. Several lines of pike-men stood blocking any entrance into the citadel, undoubtedly on the orders of that same furious captain.

"_Oh, crap," _Harry muttered mentally. He hadn't expected this. Thankfully, they had stopped running, so no one had seen them. One of the guards, however, started nervously.

"Did you see that?" he demanded loudly. "I swear I just saw someone!"

"What are you talking about, soldier?" the leader asked in an annoyed voice. "There's nothing there!"

Muttering broke out amongst the ranks and the commander, probably a sergeant or the equivalence of that rank, had to shout for quiet. Harry and Murtagh had shrunk to the shadows outside once again, to the side of the door, where they were blocked from view. That wouldn't help them gain entry, of course.

"_Any bright ideas?" _Murtagh questioned, sounding just a little sarcastic.

"_Maybe…" _Harry relayed, but the word then stuck a chord in his mind. _Bright! "Lumos maxima!" _

A dazzling burst of light erupted from the end of his wand and he quickly directed it into the vast entrance of the citadel, causing the soldiers to cry out in alarm and shield their eyes. Harry quickly removed the light from his wand and set it to float for only a moment. The pair hastily ran through the disgruntled lines of soldiers and began to sprint down the hallway. Harry was relieved they were both featherlight; any echo in a hall this massive could probably be heard halfway to Carvahall.

They stopped for breath after a few minutes, now out of earshot of the scuffling guards. Harry looked around uncertainly. He couldn't believe they had done it. They were actually in the citadel. Galbatorix's _home_. If all went well they would be out with the eggs before he even knew about it.

But then again, when did everything ever go to plan?

* * *

Nyos hurried through the streets of the capital city urgently. He had donned his armour again for this occasion. Someone was trying to sabotage the city, and he intended to help them if at all possible.

The magical signature had been a dragon, without doubt. The king and Durza had been muttering about dragons once, when he was brave enough to eavesdrop. They had spoken of 'the Rider' and his companions. Nyos had refused to believe it, but now he knew the truth. The Rider mentioned was in the city, somewhere. He had felt the dragon fly away again, but a very powerful magical presence remained. A presence that strong could only belong to either a Rider or a Shade, and Shades had an evil aura that made him shudder. This aura was not like that. It felt… serene.

Nyos had tracked the presence with his mind for a little while, and then felt it enter the citadel itself. Somehow. When the fire alarm had sounded, he had put two and two together. The Rider wanted something from the citadel, was clearly brave enough to break into the most secure building in the whole damned land to find it.

He was determined to find out why. There were two guard doors on either side of the locked gates, and he instantly headed for the one on the left – the western entrance. It was much closer, and he didn't know how far the fire had spread on the opposite side. He would relay the password, get in, help the Rider and then make his escape. If he could cripple the king in any way before departing, it would be through this act. He just knew it.

* * *

"Murtagh, we're lost again, aren't we?" Harry asked, sighing as he waved his lit wand in several directions. They stood in a large chamber, dimly lit and cold in feeling. It appeared to be decidedly bare, unusual for a room in the citadel as one would imagine it to be of at least some importance. In fact, all that could be seen was a long, polished oak table and six chairs, filling the room almost entirely.

"No, I recognise this place," Murtagh said ponderously, walking to the table and running a hand over the magnificently polished surface. "It's the king's war room. Nothing too special, except it's generally where he gathers his advisors and generals in times of crisis. I think he made it this bare as a method of intimidation."

"That's very interesting," Harry said hastily, "but where's the bloody throne room? You said it leads to the treasure room, so that's where we have to go!"

Murtagh held up his hands to calm Harry down, who scoffed in aggravation at the gesture. "Peace. It's not too far from here."

"You said that twenty minutes ago," Harry muttered, causing Murtagh to laugh.

"I guess 'not too far' is different when the building is so massive," he admitted.

They had a bit of luck in the next room. This one required an unlocking charm, and appeared to be… a bedroom. A large, purple bed occupied the centre of the room, and a cold fireplace was a fundamental part of the far wall. The entire room was well-insulated in comparison to the rest of the castle, as the temperature was very stuffy. It was filled with bookcases, which sported tomes of all sizes and colours. Thankfully, the common tongue was written as well as spoken, so Harry was able to understand the titles.

He briefly looked at a couple, but then realised he was distracting himself. "Is this… the king's quarters?" he asked incredulously.

Murtagh didn't answer immediately, but busied himself examining a map that was previously rolled up. "Oh, hells below…" he whispered. "Harry, you'd better take a look at this."

Harry practically ran across the room, and felt his blood freeze when he looked at the map. Unlike the one he had replicated earlier and placed in his leather pouch, this was filled out entirely. Generally, maps of Alagaёsia ended after the Beor Mountains and part of Du Weldenvarden, as well as the Hadarac. They were simply blank after those areas. But this one… he saw that the land was over twice as long as previously thought, and ended on an eastern coastline, jagged as it ran from top to bottom. The entire land was one massive island, it appeared.

But what had worried Murtagh was now apparently evident. The eastern coast was dotted with numerous towns and cities, and the entire land east of the desert had been labelled 'Canderin'. Underneath the handwritten name was a single note: 'troops to arrive north in six months'.

"Holy crap," Harry whispered, exchanging a glance with Murtagh. "Have you ever heard of this place before now?"

Murtagh shook his head. "No one has. He must have kept it secret."

"So you have no idea how big their army is? Because if they're allied with Galbatorix…" he trailed off, leaving the threat unspoken.

Murtagh shook his head again, quickly. "I've seen enough. Let's get those eggs… now. Can you copy this?"

Harry nodded, having planned to. They couldn't take the original or the king would notice it was missing. He quickly scanned the map and copied its blueprints, before summoning a large piece of parchment and relaying the details. The outline drew itself, before various other details were filled-in. A long mountain range occupied the area east of Du Weldenvarden, and the Beors ran the entire length to the eastern shores.

When it was finished, he rolled it up and placed it in the leather pouch carefully, ensuring not to damage it. "Don't even mention this until we find Brom and Eragon," he said sharply. "You never know who could be listening."

"I know," Murtagh agreed. "Come on, let's get out of here. This room sends a shiver down my spine."

Harry moved to follow him, but hesitated as a large purple book caught his eye. For some reason, he felt… drawn towards it, as though it emitted a peculiar magical energy. Without thinking, he grabbed it from the shelf. The name was Ancient, translated into the common tongue rather than written in symbols.

"_Pyrath Vardϋrer…" _he muttered thoughtfully.

"Can you copy it?"

"Ehh… yes, but it'll take a lot longer than the map. I would have to go page-by-page."

"Then forget it. We can't afford to waste anymore time," Murtagh declared.

Harry nodded hesitantly and reluctantly set the book back on its shelf. He would have to ask Brom about the Ancient inscription later.

"I guess it's a good thing we were lost after all," Murtagh said quietly, peeking around the corner of a hallway before stepping out from behind the corner.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Just… try not to get lost again, okay?"

Murtagh turned to him and smirked. "No problem, the throne room is directly ahead."

_How does he do that?! _Harry asked himself, shaking his head in annoyance. An alarm bell rang internally in his mind as Murtagh went to take a first step into the hallway, and he threw his arm in front of the young man's chest, in an effort to stop him walking out.

"Traps," Harry said quietly, and Murtagh stood stationary. "We can't afford to set any of these off, in case alarms are built-in to each individually. I have to disable them as we go along. Just give me a minute here, yeah?"

Murtagh nodded and stood at the corner of a wall nearby, underneath an extinguished torch. He closed his eyes and leaned against the framework, ears strained for anyone following them. They had turned right after exiting the king's quarters, and were now invisible from the direction they had come, although the charms were still in place anyway. He kicked himself for not remembering the king's defences.

Harry carefully traced the air with his wand, slowly examining the magical patterns and fluctuations in temperature and air density. Such things helped to find where exactly the wards were concealed, and how they could be overcome. Any regular magician would have walked straight into the deadly devices, but as a wizard Harry had a distinct advantage in that he could feel magic when one tried to hide it. He could remember Dumbledore being able to discover magical traces in the cave that he could not. Harry had now developed that ability to a great extent.

He found that there was a wide assortment of different traps, such as those immobilising spells and those designed to make magic useless. All were designed to maim and capture, rather than kill. The opposite would likely hold true when they reached the treasure room, but for now things were more moderate than previously expected. He was glad the sounds of panicking had long since subsided due to the thick walls of the citadel, not to mention how deeply they had delved into its belly. The noise would have put him off all forms of concentration.

Harry 'hmmed' in admiration at the quality of the spell-work involved. It wasn't a shock, considering the king's abilities and the time he had spent implementing these wards. It was breakable, however, as was any form of magic. He could only hope it wasn't through sheer force that the feat could be accomplished.

Murtagh opened his eyes and watched Harry work with interest. Regardless of how powerful Galbatorix had become, Harry was the advantage they would always have over the deranged monarch. Maybe he knew a spell or two that could dismantle the king's defences, and leave him open to attack. He certainly hoped so, although he wouldn't purposefully get his hopes up. All of them had to be prepared to die for their cause, but Harry may not agree with that line of thought. Murtagh believed the system was more important than the individual, but that wasn't to say everybody else also did so.

Harry worked on the spells before him for several minutes, casting detection charms and spells that would enable him to be alerted if he inadvertently activated one of the alarms. It wouldn't do to have the king send Durza back to the castle and be caught with their trousers around their ankles.

Pushing that incredibly disturbing thought away as fast as humanly possible, Harry had to admit Galbatorix was a true master at this game. Any unseasoned magician or wizard could stand here for years and not break through the overlapping fields of arcane energy. Thankfully, Harry was no unseasoned magician, and could use that very fact to his advantage – overlap. If the enchantments were colliding with each other then it pointed to one overbearing fact… they were all naturally separate. This also accounted for the varying natures of each spell, something he berated himself for not picking up on sooner.

In general terms, the more fragmented the wards, the easier they were to break. This was due to the differing natures of each magical segment. If they were all unified, the king could have poured his energy into the magical field and it would be completely indestructible due to his incredible strength. As it stood, however, numerous different enchantments meant that there might be gaps present between each one, regardless of how miniscule they were.

Working towards that, he eventually found one, a slight glitch in the field, as it was. He smirked to himself as he did so. A house fly wouldn't be able to fit through the crack, but it was more than enough. Using his wand carefully, he pointed it directly at where he could sense the gap, and began to channel the energy gently. It wasn't a spell, but rather a quintessence of how the wand was so much more than a simple tool. He could use it to reinforce or absorb energy, with the reinforcement generally relying on how long it would take for the caster to become exhausted, but the absorption side potentially limitless.

Murtagh watched as what appeared to be flickers of lightning cascaded amongst the hallway, raising his eyebrows in awe. He heard a slight whooshing sound, and it seemed as though the tip of Harry's wand was glowing white hot. It took about ten minutes, but eventually the sound ceased and he lowered the wand slowly.

"What is it?" Murtagh asked curiously.

Harry looked at him, before grinning widely. "The king is good, but I was better on this occasion. My wand is packed with energy now. I can tap into it at anytime when using the Ancient Language."

"How does that even work?" Murtagh asked in confusion.

"It's simple, really," Harry shrugged. "Magicians grow stronger overtime, which is how the king has gotten so powerful over the last century. This means there are limits to the amount of energy that can be stored in their body before… well, _death._ I guessed, however, that a powerful magical object may be able to store some of this energy, which is exactly what my wand is now doing."

"So… all of the energy from those traps is contained," he nodded at Harry's hand, "inside your wand? Is there a limit it can hold?" he continued when Harry nodded.

"I'm not sure, but I guess we'll find out. If there is I'll simply use the energy already stored to make room," Harry replied, taking a deep breath as he stepped into the hallway. He released that breath in relief as nothing happened. Murtagh hesitantly followed, soon finding more confidence as it became clear the traps were disabled.

"It seems like a waste," he admitted ruefully.

"Not if it helps us rescue the eggs," Harry added.

Murtagh made a face of acknowledgement and began to lead him down the hallway slowly. Each step reverberated in Harry's mind, but not in reality. At the end of the stone and marble passageway lay a large, golden pair of doors. They were really quite beautiful, but in a haunting way. A large oak tree had been carved into the design, but Harry forced himself to ignore the aesthetics.

The doors had been magically protected, but the wards were now gone. A simple _alohomora_ charm and it unlocked with a very loud click in the dead hallway. Harry gave one of the doors a push with his wand and it swung open, creaking loudly.

They both grimaced, hearts pounding. Murtagh's hand gripped the hilt of his sword, and Harry tightened the hold on his wand. Together, they nodded at each other and slowly walked inside.

There were no horror clichés awaiting them past the threshold. The door did not slam shut behind them, and candles did not spring into life around the room. Instead, the throne room was completely deserted, and bathed in darkness. Harry cast a _lumos_ charm and threw it into brightness without mercy. He flinched and almost cast defensive spells at the sight before him.

The entire wall opposite had been massacred with what almost seemed to be graffiti, of a huge black dragon devouring men alive and breathing an ominous bed of fire. It had obviously been created magically in an effort to scare people whilst the king was away, so Harry threw it back in the caster's face by simply laughing.

"This is almost… childish," he said hesitantly. "Surely the king would be absolutely ruthless in his defences?"

"He is," Murtagh replied, looking disgusted at remembering something. "When I was growing up in the citadel he used to test the enchantments on unwilling victims. I've seen more than enough grisly deaths in this building to know not to underestimate him."

"I don't," Harry reassured. "But if you're right… how was I able to find a way through so easily?"

"You're obviously just very talented," Murtagh smirked, although he genuinely meant it.

Harry almost told him jokingly to jog on, but knew that the saying would be wasted and didn't bother. "Okay, let's keep moving. Murtagh?"

Murtagh didn't respond. Harry looked around, and gasped. A soldier stood before them, dressed as if for battle. The king had obviously left a guardian to protect the eggs, possibly magically enhanced. Before he could react, the man through up his hands in a gesture of defeat.

"I mean you no harm! Here," he said, throwing his sword across the floor. It landed at Harry's feet.

Harry eyed the man suspiciously. "Who are you, and how did you find us?" As the soldier opened his mouth to explain, Harry quickly cast a revealing charm on the hallway outside, but found no visible signs of life. He turned to the soldier, trying to sound casual.

"You were saying…?"

"Nyos," the man said slowly, lowering his hands. "My name is Nyos, and I'm here to help you."

"Well, I thank you for the kind offer, Nyos, but we don't trust the king's men," Harry said, raising his wand to stun the man.

"Wait!" Murtagh exclaimed, holding his palm up. He hurried to examine the soldier, who peered at him curiously. Harry was alarmed that he could see through the disillusionment charms so easily. Didn't they work on _any_ magicians? On that impression, he decided to temporarily disable them, seeing as they were useless. And why hadn't his supersensory charm worked? It clearly needed to be fine-tuned, he thought with aggravation.

"What?" Harry asked stubbornly after casting the magic.

"I recognise him," Murtagh declared. "He's the one Brom and I observed when scrying the memory. The general Galbatorix left in charge."

Harry frowned. It didn't make sense for a soldier so high in the rankings to offer himself up as bait. He would be too full of self-importance to even consider any form of sacrifice. Perhaps the king had gifted him with magical strengths and abilities.

"Ah, scrying…" Nyos said thoughtfully, removing his helm. They observed a weather-beaten face, probably around forty years of age, with short-cropped hair, black in colour. He was certainly muscular and intimidating, but bore a friendly smile. Harry refused to let it take him off-guard.

"Yes, scrying. What of it?" he asked sharply, not lowering his wand for an instant.

"I was wondering how you discovered the king had gone… Rider," he said triumphantly, waving an arm and causing the door to swing shut.

"That wasn't a wise move," Murtagh threatened, drawing his sword.

Nyos chuckled. "Are you really going to cut me into little pieces after I've basically put myself at your mercy? I would expect that from those bastards in the Empire, not from you."

Murtagh exchanged a quick glance with Harry, both evidently confused. "What madness are you speaking? You're trusted by the king himself!"

"Listen, I don't have time for this," Nyos said calmly, dropping a backpack he was carrying on the floor with a grunt. Harry heard the distinctive clinking of gold from the inside. "I have five thousand crowns inside here, enough to buy my way to Aberon and open my own blacksmith's shop. I intended to come here and help you before leaving, but if you don't want my help then you can go to hell."

Harry was unnerved at how cheerfully he was saying everything. And what's more, he thought Harry was a Rider? Where had that come from? Harry fully hoped Angela's prophecy was accurate, but he wasn't recovering these eggs out of sheer greed. He would accept the position gratefully if it was gifted to him, but wouldn't throw a wobbly if it was not.

"You're… a deserter?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"I am," Nyos nodded. "Feel free to inspect my mind to confirm all the details you wish. I don't have time to give you my entire history, but I will if we make it out of here alive."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Murtagh asked sceptically.

"Meaning that you caused a shit-storm to kick itself off when you blasted your way into the palace the way you did. They're combing the buildings for you two, and then they'll come here," Nyos warned.

Harry swore in alarm. He quickly inspected Nyos' mind and found that he spoke the truth in everything he had said. He was indeed escaping from the Empire, which he had been forced to join as a boy, and genuinely desired to aid them before doing so. He was also clearly a magician, more powerful than average, and found it amusing they had all chosen this night to enact their plans. It would surely irk the king to no end.

"Okay, he's telling the truth," Harry said quickly. "But keep an eye on him. Wait, where the hell is this hallway?!"

Murtagh directed him to another set of doors, which were almost lost in the darkness as their colour was also black. Harry quickly unlocked them and blew them open with a small wave of energy. He groaned as he encountered the wards mining this passageway.

"This is going to be a lot tougher than the one outside," he declared over his shoulder. "Make sure those bloody doors are locked!"

Nyos locked them using magic and watched the young man's progress carefully. He was beginning to have doubts about whether or not he was the Rider. He had seemed confused at Nyos' declaration, which is exactly what he had intended. He also bore a peculiar magical stick and seemed to operate under a completely different school of magic, which interested the older magician to no end. The guards had smouldered the fire as he reached the palace, but wouldn't come for the throne room unless as a last resort. Even with the king gone, they feared this room. Everyone knew the stories of Galbatorix's fearsome dragon eating people when he felt disturbed by their presence.

"So… why Aberon?" the other youth asked him, peering curiously. He hadn't sheathed his weapon, either.

Nyos smiled, trying to appear as friendly as possible. "I have family sailing there from Teirm. They're some of the refugees leaving the city. It's past time I left to be with them, and when will ever be a better time?"

"Refugees?" Harry asked, looking over his shoulder. "You mean people are fleeing the city?"

"In droves. They say some type of fearsome magic battle took place there recently, and fear it will happen again. Do you know anything of it?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"The intimate details," Harry muttered. "I was one of the two people involved. Although I don't know if my opponent is a 'person'…"

That turned the wheels in Nyos' mind relatively easily. "Durza? Was his name Durza?"

"I'll tell _you_ all about it _when_ we get out of here alive," Harry said firmly, causing him to chuckle.

"Since Harry is busy, do you mind telling me how you found us?" Murtagh asked suspiciously.

Nyos sat on the bottom step of the throne itself. He fully intended to blow it up before leaving, if he got the chance. "Unlike most magicians, I can automatically detect magical signatures inside a certain area. I felt three very powerful presences accompanying what I believe to be a dragon, and then tracked you to here."

"Just like that?" Murtagh asked simply.

"Just like that," Nyos smirked. "Honestly, though, you don't know how good it feels to be helping you two steal… whatever it is you're stealing. I've had to act like I'm afraid around that red-haired monster for too long. If I didn't he would have gutted me. It's time for a little payback against him and that oath-breaker king."

They were interrupted by a sudden banging on the throne room doors. Murtagh stiffened and adapted a fighting posture. He went to call for Harry, but Nyos shook his head.

"They were a lot faster than I thought they would be… but listen, I still have my authority in the army, so leave this to me. Your friend needs time to break through. Oh, and could you please give me my sword back?"

Harry shut his eyes and magically drowned out their conversation before the knocking commenced. He probed the area for the tenth time, searching for any faults in the magical auras detectable. Unfortunately, nothing existed quite like the gap he had found earlier. The king had obviously taken more care placing these wards, as they protected the future of the land itself. He was resolved to widening the search, and began to scan for _any_ potential opening, be it only a nanometre in diameter. Even that proved almost impossible, but after a long time of arduous searching, he found one. Only one. It was barely even in existence. A grain of sand against the infinite flowing of the universe itself. A drop of water in a vast ocean.

It was all he had to work with. Taking a series of deep breaths, he began to draw on his focus and use vast amounts of concentration. He slowly and delicately prodded and swished at the gap, widening it fractionally every few minutes. It must have taken close to half an hour, but he finally made it large enough to work with. This was much more tricky and complex than the magical field he had previously encountered. He had to destabilise the energy in certain sections or risk the entire field collapsing and the alarm activating.

When he was confident it was possible, he started to extrapolate the king's own reserves of power once more, feeling as though his wand may burst from the satiating flow of energy entering its core. He didn't like putting it at risk, but it almost seemed to love the power it was gaining, and he hoped it could make his ordinary Latin spells even stronger.

When, at long last, he drained the entire aura, sweat was pouring off of his face. Nevertheless, he beamed in delight and turned to his two companions.

"I did- oh, bugger…"

Perhaps next time he would choose not to dispel quite as much sound as he had done. A dozen quartets of soldiers stood there, looking at him with intensity. Some seemed to be amused, and others haughty.

He spread his arms and let them flap against his sides in annoyance. "What happened to 'lock the doors'?" he demanded.

Nyos shrugged. "They knocked politely, so I let them in."

Harry buried his face in his hands. To have come all this way, for nothing. He had been so sure they would have a chance, and now the king would get his hands on both of them. They would be made to swear fealty in the Ancient Language, and probably turned into depraved henchmen. Then he snorted internally. What was he saying? With the power he had extracted from the wards he could probably turn them inside-out with a single thought!

"Don't do anything rash," Nyos said calmly, and Harry looked up, noticing that both he and Murtagh were armed, unharmed and completely calm. "They've been here for quite a while, but you were too engrossed to notice. I've convinced them to hear us out."

"You've… what?" Harry asked in confusion.

"All of us have families to protect," a large, burly soldier grunted. "We'll join the strongest side, no matter who that is."

"And some of us hate that bastard king more than the Varden," another added from near the front. "We only serve the system, not the man."

"Murtagh, what did you tell them?" Harry asked, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

"That the weapon for swinging the war against the king's favour lies in that room," he said, pointing down the hallway. "That if they let us go we can defeat Galbatorix and free their families."

"Well… _I _told them that," Nyos stated, shrugging at Murtagh's scowl.

Harry was too tired to even contemplate fear. He just said the first thing that came to his head. "Don't be stupid, any of you. The king is clearly evil and must be killed to help free the land. These are dark times, so will you let yourselves fall into that darkness? Or will you rise up and help spread the light across Alagaёsia? You _don't_ fight for the highest bidder, but for your own morals and for what is right!

"If you really believe capturing – or even killing – the three of us will help to make this a better time, then feel free to try," he said threateningly. "But if you're smart enough to understand that, although they are flawed, the Varden have the right ideas, then you _will_ help us."

"Is that why you're here?" the large soldier grunted. "Orders from the Varden?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "But we intend to join them. If any of you have a heart and _truly_ care about your families, you'll take them and _leave_!" he shouted. "This is the opportunity, and you will never have it again! The king is gone, and now is your chance to run! Take it!"

They looked around at one another uncertainly. An intimidating officer, the same one they had seen in the courtyard, sneered in derision.

"The Varden are a pack of savages and outlaws. They are the ones who destroy the land, not the king! He only wishes to serve the interests of the people!"

"Maybe you should go and take a cold bath," Murtagh spat at him, causing much laughing amongst the ranks. "I've seen Urgal attacks up and down the Empire, and my friend here witnessed the massacre at Yazuac! The king allows these assaults to go unpunished because he doesn't care about any of you!"

"It's true," Harry added. "I was there, and I saw the bodies of _children_. Those are on the king, and him alone." Well, that wasn't strictly true. Harry also placed much of the blame on the Urgals responsible for the horrific scene, but he wasn't about to admit that when their lives depended on this little conversation.

"You fine men still consider me your commanding officer, yes?" Nyos asked in a powerful voice, drawing all eyes to him. He walked to the centre of the room, impressively separating any in his path. He wasn't even that big compared to many of them, merely daunting in character and personality.

There were murmurs of consent and some emphatic nodding from the men who respected him most. He had served with them as a captain, and they trusted his judgment. Some would disagree, of course, but he had to try.

"Well, as that officer still, I'm telling you that the king is pure evil. Many of you – like myself – were forced to join through conscription… I received an order from the hand of the king himself this very day, _demanding_ the forced enlistment of one hundred thousand men and boys! What do you say to that?!"

Harry choked as he heard those words. _One hundred thousand?!_ If that was true, the map they had found was now even direr. Judging from the look on Murtagh's face, akin to someone who had just swallowed a mouthful of dirt, he agreed. The soldiers were also outraged, aside from the captain, who merely looked unabashed.

"It's an honour and a privilege to fight for the king! They should be grateful! Someone has to keep those lower class rats and thieves in order! Why shouldn't it be us? Why should we not-"

He never got the next word out, as Nyos chose that moment to relieve his shoulders of their head, staining his sword red. Some of the soldiers took a step back, whereas others appeared… heartened.

"What?" Nyos asked nonchalantly as they stared at him. "I never liked him. The choice is yours, gentlemen. I'm leaving this city, tonight, and never returning. Regardless of who you support, if you really want to stay and risk the king's wrath when he returns, you can be my guests."

"To hell with this!" the larger soldier growled angrily, pointing at the now headless captain. "That murderer killed my wife and threatened my children unless I joined! I'm gone, but I'm not leaving empty-handed. To the treasury, lads!"

With a collective roar of approval, most of the guards threw down their helmets and followed the soldier out of the room. Their insulting chants against the king and the Empire could be heard for minutes afterwards, and Harry assumed they would probably rouse half the city before the night was done.

"Now _that_ I don't agree with," Murtagh winced. "They could really harm trade and less-off cities if they steal too much."

"Too late," Nyos said quickly, turning away from the door. One soldier, his second-in-command, remained behind. "Der, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I just wanted to say, sir, that I've always respected you. I respect your decision, and I'm delighted you've made it… but, why do I get the feeling you're not coming with us?" the younger man asked.

"I sense my own path lies elsewhere at the moment, Derrin. But I will make my way to Surda as soon as possible, and I trust you to do the same in a safe manner," Nyos smiled.

Derrin nodded and saluted. "Yes, sir. I'll see you in Surda, and the first round of ale will be on me!"

After clasping arms in a soldier's embrace, Derrin left the room. Murtagh turned to Harry.

"Nyos says he wants to come with us until we deliver the eggs, and then he'll make his own way to Aberon."

"You told him about the eggs?" Harry asked, surprised.

"He worked it out."

"Trust me, lads, I'm smarter than I look. The land depends on magic, and dragon eggs are the only reason anybody would try something as suicidal as you have tonight. You have my blade so long as it can be used efficiently," he nodded respectfully.

Harry returned the gesture. "Thank you. If Murtagh agrees, I'm sure we would be delighted to have your assistance."

"Of course I agree."

Harry scoffed and turned away, thinking about how unusual this night had been. It was about to get turned up another gear, as well. He was only appreciative that Nyos had managed to convince the soldiers to desert, so now they would not have to unwillingly reveal the eggs. The man was obviously a gifted speaker, and he seemed supremely unconcerned about cutting down his enemies. He would be a very powerful ally.

Without another word, the trio entered the mysterious hallway leading to the treasure room. Both magicians could literally feel the magical energy shimmering around their bodies, and knew immediately that this was the right place. The door this time had neither lock nor handle, but Harry was through playing around. With a sweep of his wand, he blew it into a thousand pieces and stepped inside, through the cloud of dust that had been kicked up. As he did so, his heart seemed to play at a regular drum beat – two thuds every second.

The traps present in the room had been disabled concurrently with those outside, so it was safe to walk unashamedly across the cold, smooth floor. Harry's heart almost stopped as his eye was drawn to a pair of marble pedestals at the far end. They supported the weight of two large spherical objects, one the colour of rubies and the other that of emeralds. They seemed to glisten and shine with the light from his wand, and he felt the breath catch in his windpipe.

He quickly summoned them gently and held out a hand, seeing it shake in trepidation and almost pious solicitude. His fingertips gently brushed the emerald orb, and it seemed to pulsate with magical energy in response. To his left Murtagh slowly approached the red egg, and removed it from the air with both hands cupping the surface. His eyes were wide in amazement, and Harry could have sworn he saw a tear or two glistening when he looked around.

With reluctance, he placed the egg in his leather pouch, drawing an amazed splutter from the defecting general, who had watched the proceedings believing it must be a dream.

_Hope_, Nyos thought. _That's what this is. The seed of hope has been sewn and we may yet have a chance to defeat the king. _

Harry waited patiently for Murtagh to hand over the red egg, and he placed it beside its green sibling, delicately sealed the pouch once more with magic and attached it to his belt, beside Aiedail. He turned to look at Nyos, who wore a grin so large it was almost unnatural.

For his own part, Harry hadn't smiled so brightly since settling in at Carvahall, and this was the first time he had seen true happiness etched on Murtagh's countenance. It was going to be a glorious day when they found Brom and Eragon.

"I think it's time to go," Murtagh announced at last. "There's no point standing here like happy fools."

Harry laughed heartily, something which surprised even him. He felt lighter and more animated than in many a month, and the feeling was simply magnificent. As they reached the throne room, he realised that Nyos was planning something through his look alone.

"I promised myself I would blow up that throne chair before leaving," he said distastefully. "And I intend to keep that promise."

"I have a better idea," Harry said quickly. "But give me a moment. I want to grab a book I found earlier."

Murtagh watched him go and chuckled. Well, the guards _were_ probably rioting outside anyway, so one little book would hardly make a difference now. He was shocked however, as Harry came sprinting into the room moments later and had to slam the golden doors in the face of a raging fire.

"What's going on?" Murtagh demanded.

To his disbelief, Harry grinned. "I thought all the purple in his room was a little too much. His dragon is black and his soul is black, so let's give him a bedroom to match, huh?"

"You set it on fire?!"

Harry nodded as though it were obvious. "Of course I did! Now, if you'll excuse me."

He stored the mysterious book and then, in a rapid motion, whipped out his wand once more and cast an explosive charm at the throne, blowing it to smithereens. In quick succession, he succeeded in blasting a massive hole in the wall nearby, which ran parallel with the corridor containing the king's quarters to the citadel entrance.

"Okay, let's go!" he shouted, as the structure began to rumble a little.

Nyos laughed uproariously and ran through the opening ahead of the two younger men, pausing only to light the tapestries in the throne room on fire. Harry joined him, only he also cast another _expulso_ charm, this time on the far wall, near to the treasure room. Clouds of dust and piles of rubble began to fall from the ceiling as the building became more structurally unsound. Harry was careful to ensure they were never in danger, casting spells only behind them as they ran. He destroyed the king's war room in glee, and watched as Nyos split the entire citadel in two, causing the walls to begin falling apart.

Murtagh was in disbelief at their wanton regard for destruction. Harry was finally showing some of his hatred for the king, and he probably felt this was a form of revenge for losing his eye. Nyos was just insane in his own comical way, and took a sense of personal pride to the fires and explosions.

As they reached the packed courtyard of soldiers, men began to cheer them. Far more than had been there in the throne room. Harry jumped as a deafening creaking noise obscured all other sounds, and looked back to see the entire citadel collapse into heaps of rubble. A massive cloud of dust was sent up, and Harry cast a powerful shield charm around the courtyard to prevent them getting hit by falling rocks.

After a few minutes, ruins were all that remained. Many cheered and applauded the collapse of the once feared structure, including civilians who had recently appeared.

"Commander, we came across many groups of Empire supporters who opposed us," Derrin said, stepping forward. "We dispatched them with the help of the common folk. Everyone here is anxious to be free of the king, although thousands of his loyal soldiers are escaping."

"Let them flee!" Nyos roared over the din of the crowd, and they screamed in approval, banging weapons against shields and carrying sacks of what Harry knew to be gold, as well as countless valuables from the castle. "Okay, boys and girls, help the people safely abandon the city, and then trash it! Burn it all!"

Harry watched in amazement as thousands of former soldiers began to move throughout the city, evacuating the people safely (to his pleasant surprise) and then burning down every building in sight. His own fire was now trivial in comparison to this. The night was basking in orange glow, and he tore down the walls with magic so people could leave without having to open the monstrous gates. Surda would certainly have more members for its army before the week was over.

Harry and his new companions calmly strode out of the courtyard and into the main area of the city, although it wouldn't be a city for much longer at this rate. Rather than walk to any of the main gates, they headed towards the northern wall, the one closest to the Ramr River. Harry destroyed a segment of the towering stone structure, and they calmly walked over the rubble onto the other side. It was time to head for the area where they would meet the others. Around them, farmers were gathering their supplies and freshly sewn harvests, before setting their crops alight. With their families on horses and carts, they began to head south, joining a massive line of emigrants, which was ever-expanding.

Casually, Harry removed three toy wooden horses from his leather pouch and waved his wand, transfiguring the animals back to normal. They whinnied in confusion and relief, but he calmed them with the power of his mind. Godric was relieved to see him, as was Tornac towards Murtagh. Snowfire was less certain about Nyos, but that was to say nothing about the expression on Nyos' face. Harry thought his bottom jaw may actually hit the ground, and handed him the reins, smirking.

The three spurred the creatures forward, heading for the water as the fire roared behind.

* * *

The power now stored in Harry's wand was amazing. In fact, he was certain he could now defeat Durza single-handedly if it came down to an individual battle. What he didn't know was that Durza could track his movements from afar. And at that exact moment the Shade chose to remove himself from his very long (annoyingly ineffective once more) torture session with the elven princess, and he felt the boy's presence in…

Durza choked. No, it couldn't be… eyes wide in horror; he rushed to contact the king, although he need not have bothered. Galbatorix felt the alarms go off around his traps with the destruction of the citadel, although he had no idea what was happening. Only that somebody was trying to break into his own domain.

"_Durza! What is going on?!" _he shouted inside the Shade's head, who felt agonised by the force of his yelling.

"_My lord, I- I have no idea!" _

"_Well find out, you useless little piece of regurgitated filth! My alarms have been tripped! Someone is trying to steal the eggs!"_ he screamed in fury.

Durza froze in horror. The king would kill him for this. The boy had obviously been successful in his attempt, as the presence was moving away from Urû'baen. He swallowed, terrified, before starting to relay his message. Before he could even begin to speak, however, he was shot from behind. He recoiled as the arrow struck his shoulder, and growled in anger.

He tried to turn around and face his attacker, but a second arrow pierced his skull, directly in the temple. With a spurt of blood and a howl of pain he vanished, leaving a triumphant Eragon grinning at where he had stood.

"A very good shot," Brom nodded impatiently, before moving to the elf's side. They had broken in with no trouble thanks to Harry's charms, and had not encountered the Shade until now. Only mismatched patrols. Brom rested a hand on her forehead. "Arya, can you hear me?" he asked gently.

When she didn't reply or attempt to stir, he picked her up and threw her carefully over his shoulder, handing the sword and bow he had found to Eragon. He was a little annoyed at having missed the Shade's heart, but at least the boy had vanquished him for a little while. He made a mental note to practice more with the bow, and led Eragpn out of the room, half-running as Arya was distinctly visible above him.

As predetermined, Saphira awaited them on the roof, having first dispatched the archers stationed there. Brom carefully tied Arya to her underside and mounted the dragon behind Eragon.

"_This has gone better than I would have dared to hope," _she admitted.

"_Maybe," _Eragon replied in a measured tone. _"But let's find out how Harry and Murtagh have fared before we jump to conclusions." _

"_Is the elf injured?" _

"_We don't know. She won't awaken," _Eragon said with worry.

"_Then let us tarry no longer in this place_," Saphira declared. With a flap of her wings, she rose into the air faster than normal, and launched herself in the direction Brom had indicated. No one ever even caught a glimpse of the unusual group as they flew away from Gil'ead.

It was a true night to remember for the forces of good, but if history were to remember anything of note, it would be Galbatorix's unquenchable anger and thirst for vengeance. He killed Tábor in a rage as Durza fell silent, and mounted his black dragon, Shruikan, intending to arrive at his fortress and kill everyone in sight. He had used magic to fly to Dras-Leona as rapidly as possible, but now he would use his magic to make his enemies suffer.

What he didn't know was that, in the night air, two dragon embryos were stirring for the first time. They felt their Riders, and would soon burst into life and join them in the world.

* * *

**A:N - And so the pendulum of fate has swung in favour of our protagonists for the first time. I wonder how long that will last... Have no fear, I will not ruin this story with the creation of a new land. It exists only to serve as a potential sequel to the story... apart from the planned Shades and army, of course. I like to think it actually exists (hidden) in the canon series, and who knows? Paolini even said he may write sequels to the story, so it could be an accurate assumption. **


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**A:N - If you managed to read my previous note regarding Facebook, please just ignore it. The page idea isn't going ahead. Instead, I'll post updates on chapter progress here on FanFiction, at the top of my profile. The reviews will stay the same, i.e. - I'll respond to you directly if you have a query, and will only post the answer before any chapter if it concerns a major issue. This means that trivial questions asked through anonymous reviews will NOT be answered, as I refuse to clog up the word count by answering reviews (a personal pet peeve, if you've read my profile). If you want to ask something trivial, or not overly important, please do so through a proper account in order to get an answer. Thanks. **

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen – Second Hope**

Alagaёsia, the early days of spring. This period marked a time of great change in the land. Historians would aptly name it: 'the Exodus of Souls', for that is what it was. Thousands of people flocked from the streets of the dreaded capital, making a beeline for numerous other towns and cities scattered across the nation. Many headed south, directly to the welcoming embrace of King Orrin, including soldiers who had now deserted, courtesy of one former general utilising his great influence over the troops.

There were many who remained loyal to the Empire, of course. But as their forces were so scattered in the city at the time of its due sacking, they were forced to retreat from the devastation caused by the mutineers. Galbatorix also entertained a small cadre of noblemen and their families, who he purposefully placed above the heavily taxed peasants. Some of them decided to remain, in order to show their undying loyalty, whereas many others also decided to flee. Their homes were gone, and they feared the king would murder them the instant he set foot in the former capital.

The walls were intact, as fire cannot harm stone, save the section that Harry destroyed with a single wave of his wand. The citadel lay in heaps of rubble, the treasury was now empty, and every storehouse in the city had been raided liberally, before being put to the torch. The remaining loyalists, who admittedly still far outnumbered the deserters, fled to neighbouring cities to report the catastrophe. They wouldn't arrive for a few days, provided their supplies held out.

Those who fled south were forced to move with fleet of foot, as the distance between the points of embarkation and disembarkation was vast, and it was quite possible the king would swoop down on them from above and melt the flesh from their bones. Some found this pace difficult to maintain, but the soldiers provided them with as much support as possible, and kept the lines of refugees organised and moving forward hastily.

Harry wished they could have done more, as it was entirely their fault that the city was now gone, but there was really nothing he could do. He couldn't create portkeys and had no access to apparition. Besides, he had something even more important to worry about; two brightly coloured vessels of hope, tucked inside his magically enchanted pouch for safekeeping.

He spurred his horse frantically, knowing they had to make haste. Hoping beyond hope that Brom and Eragon had already arrived at the meeting point on his replicated map, he did not speak to the men beside him, but kept a fierce determination planted firmly in his mind. Actions spoke louder than words, and he half expected the king to be deaf when he returned to the city-that-was as a result of his.

He knew that, from this moment on, they would be hunted down like rabid dogs, possibly by Galbatorix himself. They had to make it to the Varden and rally the forces of peace against the impending wave of darkness. Harry fully intended to place the entire city under the fidelius charm, as soon as he figured out how to cast the incredibly advanced and difficult magic. He did remain cautious, of course. Brom had been wary in wanting to lead them to his former allies for a reason, so Harry would be as suspicious as necessary. If they tried to cross him or his friends, they would instantly regret the decision.

For his part, Murtagh remained calm about the whole situation. He understood the implications of being wanted by the king himself, and how the stakes would be raised even higher after the events that had occurred only a half hour ago, but it didn't seem to affect him in any adverse manner. He was always doomed to either fight or surrender, so what had really changed? Of course, his life would be altered if, somehow, one of the eggs hatched for him, but the chances of that occurring were slim to none. His father had been a Rider, but Murtagh wouldn't be surprised if that actually worked against the egg choosing him, such a black-hearted bastard was Morzan.

Nyos, ever-calm, tried to remain impassive. He had felt almost giddy upon seeing the city fall, but that had now faded as he realised the danger he was in. Even worse, if the king somehow found out how involved he was, then his family would be in grave peril. He hadn't thought about that properly, being so caught up in the moment. Mara had to stay hidden, and he now thought Aberon wasn't the best option. Perhaps a more secluded and less risky location was in order, such as Reavstone. It wasn't a military installation, but a simple city of fishing that supplied Surda with much of its food supply. If only he had thought of this sooner… Derrin would surely have carried the message south for him before leaving.

But too late the mind thinks of what one should have previously said. He was committed now, as were they all.

Harry brought Godric to a sudden stop. The river flowed brightly before their eyes, the Sun's rays beginning to shine off of the reflective surface of cool, clear water that looked tantalisingly inviting. One good thing the king had ordered was for this river to be free of all pollution and waste, although that was primarily for his own sake. Even he needed to survive on some form of sustenance.

Thanks to the charms Harry had cast shortly after departure, they had arrived at the rendezvous point only a short time after their very successful heist. Well, it seemed to be more of a sabotage operation in hindsight, but whichever you preferred to say.

Harry dismounted and pulled out the map he had replicated, ensuring they had gotten the location correct. He looked around, searching for any glimpse of their companions, but found nothing. He was a little worried Durza may not have taken the bait and had somehow captured the three (considering his advanced strength it was a definite possibility), but at the same time refused to let that become a coherent thought and tried to negate it by lying back on a large rock, eyes shut.

"It's dangerous to sit out in the open like this for too long," Nyos observed, casting his experienced gaze around them. In short, there was very little to be seen. The Sun had still not fully risen, and so the area was relatively dark. The only true landmark they could see was the river itself, but that was only because it flowed not ten metres from their current location.

By Harry's calculations they had travelled almost thirty leagues northeast to get to this particular spot. It wasn't exactly an even distance for both groups to traverse, but Saphira could fly much faster than the horses could run, especially when one considered Harry's featherlight charms, so it was relatively balanced nonetheless.

Harry carefully cast several spells around the surrounding area that would hide them from any unfriendly eyes, but he was beginning to severely doubt the effectiveness his magical wards were having against Ancient Language magicians. Nyos and Durza had both seen straight through his disillusionment charms, and his supersensory ability hadn't told him of the man's presence either, which was what its one purpose had been to do

It was something he needed to ponder as soon as he had more time in which to do so.

In truth, Harry wasn't lying there to rest; he wouldn't be so stupid, considering they had just stolen the king's personal dragon eggs. No, he lay there only to calm himself down a little. He felt terrible, an after-effect of the adrenaline in his bloodstream beginning to thin out. He needed to ensure that was kept under wraps, or he may fly off the handle entirely.

With an absent mind, he began to reach out towards the nature surrounding him. It was something he hadn't had much time to practice with, courtesy of the hectic couple of days they had endured. But now he was free for a little while, and extending his reach also provided an aid in surmising whether or not anyone was approaching their position.

He smiled as his mind brushed a small gathering of sparrows in a nearby tree, nesting. The family was so peaceful, so content… it really started to make the young wizard think about one particular issue…

_Will I ever be free? Free of enemies, war… death? Or do I live a life of pain and sorrow forever… am I cursed? Will I ever have my own family to raise? _

He really had been lucky… so far. Harry had survived more than his fair share of nightmares, starting when he was only a child. And as a child, he had been constantly terrified… something no child should ever feel. Blame for that lay with his hated relatives. They were lucky to be so far away, or he may have decided to pay them a little visit for their years of hell.

After that morbid thought arrived a torrent of memories. The Stone… the Chamber… the Dementors… Voldemort's resurrection… Sirius being killed by that horrible bitch Bellatrix… Dumbledore… and then the huge swaths of dead inside the halls of Hogwarts itself, his home. His home had been tainted, courtesy of one person.

And now a new madman was laying waste to his new home, a favour which Harry had returned in unspoken manner only hours ago by this point. He was damned if Galbatorix was going to join the illustrious rank of Voldemort in making him break like a little child.

With that one rush of self-pride, Harry repressed every negative memory he had and bottled them in one corner of his mind, rather like a spiritual pensieve. As he did so a sudden vision rippled to life in his mind. Not a vision caused by his connection wit Voldemort, which was now gone, but something completely… unexpected.

He was standing in a grand plateau….

Alone on one side.

It was raining heavily… thunder roaring above and lightning crackling across the blackened sky. Before him stood the phantoms of his dreams and thoughts. He recognised Voldemort and his whole entourage of Death Eaters, Slytherin House, Snape, Bellatrix, the Dursleys, Wormtail… even Dumbledore, as he had kept Harry in the dark on so many issues for so long and was the worst of manipulators. But unlike the others, he faded after but a moment, as Harry had partially forgiven him.

"I don't fear you," he spat, eyeing the unbroken line without fear or hesitance. The rain continued to beat around his face and body, but Harry showed it nothing but disdain. "I never did. You are all pathetic, miserable… and you have my pity. Let this act signify that I'm done with you, now and forever. Go to Hell."

With that, he pulled out his wand… and blew the vision into smithereens, vanquishing the weighted memories of his past... forever. Although he never forgot them, they would never trouble him again.

He had new enemies to face.

Durza and Galbatorix's faces swam into view, as if with a cloud of mist. Two armies were amassed behind them; one Urgal and one Empiric.

"I'm taking you down. All of you," Harry growled. "And with this at my side, and my friends also, I will win."

He had pulled out the green egg, and a look of shock flickered across the king's face… up until that moment none of the visions had shown emotion.

Harry didn't realise that he had actually grabbed the dragon egg in reality. A blinding light surrounded him, reflecting off of his eyes like the most precious of sparkling emeralds. Nyos and Murtagh watched, in shock, as this happened before their very eyes.

With a roar of wind, all sound ceased for a brief moment of eternity.

Then, in Harry's hands, the egg membrane burst open, leaving him obscured by a wriggling armful of green wings.

Harry felt his breath tremble as he stared down, breaking free of his vision, wondering if this was nought but the most vivid of dreams. He would have pinched himself, but found it to be unnecessary as the hatchling suddenly nudged his right palm with its forehead, and a wave of pain cascaded through his body, almost causing his knees to knock together.

In shock at what it caused to happen, the dragon jumped gracefully out of his hands and landed on the ground, staring at him with concern. It was young, and couldn't yet understand speech, but it knew the look it could see was one of pain. It also felt, deep in its heart of hearts, that this young human was important. They had formed an irrevocable bond upon touching, and now it felt attached to him through more than life itself.

Up above, only a mile out, Saphira felt the magic in her blood shimmer as the mark of dragons etched itself onto Harry's palm. She dipped her head and flew with such a ferocious pace that Eragon and Brom almost fell off of her backwards. Using her superior vision, Saphira spotted Harry and Murtagh before either of them, along with an unusual man she had never seen before.

She quickly landed, allowing Brom and Eragon to dismount. Murtagh broke out in a wide grin upon spotting them, and then his gaze flickered to the woman strapped to Saphira's chest. His breath caught as he saw her beauty, but he quickly tore his gaze away. Elves had the power to allure any man, and he wouldn't fall privy to such a trick.

Brom carefully untied Arya from her resting place and gently set her on the ground, as close to the fire he quickly conjured with magic as possible. She was freezing, and that was not a good sign. He frowned as his gaze found the man dressed in Imperial armour nearby, and stood to face him.

Nyos fixed his gaze upon the old man who was staring at him intently. He had been mentally punched in the chest by the young woman's beauty, yet even as he said 'woman' he knew there was more to her than such a general term. Such grace could only come from an Elf, so that was his deduction. But now he was facing the wrathful gaze of the man, who was quite clearly leading these young men on a quest to topple the Empire, and he couldn't help but he impressed at his vigour.

"He helped us rescue the eggs," Murtagh quickly interjected, standing in the centre of space between both men. "Brom, he's on our side. But maybe you should look at-"

"Brom? _The _Brom?" Nyos asked, eyebrows flying upwards.

Murtagh looked at him, and slowly nodded.

Nyos' face cracked into a wide grin, and before long he was laughing heartily. "Oh, I can't be surprised. So _that's_ how you done it?" he asked Murtagh directly.

"It was Harry's idea," Murtagh admitted quietly. "And I'm new to this group as well, but Brom is obviously a source of great wisdom. And Brom, speaking of Harry-"

"Well, I suppose Dragon Riders _do_ have the best knowledge known to man," Nyos stated.

Eragon froze in the act of wiping Arya's brow with a wet cloth and his gaze snapped up to meet the back of Brom's head. Murtagh blinked in surprise. Brom remained impassive.

"You're lying," Eragon stated blankly, shifting his gaze to the other man.

"Am I?" Nyos asked rhetorically, raising an eyebrow again. "What reason do I have to lie? Maybe you should ask your two friends here where they would be, had I not helped them escape. I can tell you where they wouldn't be: _alive._ No, my grandfather witnessed Brom in action many times, and decided to pass the tale down because of how impressed he was._" _

Murtagh scoffed at one section of his words. "We would have escaped eventually. With the power Harry received in disabling the wards they were no match for his strength. But yes, you did help us, and not just in stealing the eggs."

"So you managed to steal both of them?" Brom asked, his gaze never wavering. He tried not to catch Eragon's eye and wanted to avoid his ever-approaching story for as long as possible.

"There's only one egg," Harry said from across the fire.

Brom's eyes snapped to him. "What are you…?"

Eragon saw his eyes widen and quickly followed his line of sight. What he saw there rendered him speechless. Murtagh smirked.

"I did try to tell you twice."

Harry had eyes only for Saphira, whose lingering and penetrating gaze hadn't left Harry since she landed. Perched on his shoulders with wings spread wide, was one of her kin. Her mind had been in overdrive since arriving, and she had completely zoned out the conversation of the humans. She couldn't even guess what they had spoken of. The little dragon was staring right back at her, but promptly hid its head behind Harry. Apparently it was quite shy for one of her kin.

Eragon felt Saphira's euphoria soak through him like the full power of the ocean's tides themselves. He grinned madly, hardly even knowing what he was doing. He had never felt her so happy, and the incredible feeling was both majestic and truly infectious.

Harry looked mightily impressive. Any observer could have sworn he was at least a foot taller than usual, and as the dragon was play-hiding, they could also have stated he had a pair of green wings and a tail. His eyes were fixed with a determination Eragon had never before seen, and he knew _this_ was finally the real Harry. Something had happened. After months of a friend he had found to be strangely emotional and reclusive for a young man, Harry had finally stepped out of his shell, and would never retreat inside it again. They had nudged him towards doing so, but now he had achieved it himself.

Brom was also delighted. This man was the leader he had seen inside his head for many weeks now; one who would go to any lengths to save the land from destruction, and who could display characteristics of the most wise Elf still living. Brom's leadership probably let him step back too much, and take a smaller role that never let him show his true potential. That would clearly never happen again.

Harry smiled, and his next words brought great laughter to his companions.

"Let's fuck up some evil kings."

* * *

Brom dispelled Eragon's questions heatedly as the group rode away from the scene, travelling southeast. They would have flown, but Harry doubted Saphira could carry so many at once, and nobody had any desire to leave someone behind. Finally, they picketed the horses beside a scattering of large boulders on the edge of the Hadarac Desert, where the ground was hot and barren.

It took an hour of careful and analysed speech, but finally both tales were told, and Brom personally explored Nyos' mind, making him swear oaths of secrecy and protection in the Ancient Language. He finally relented and admitted the turncoat general meant no harm – well, to them, at least – and even thanked him greatly for his help. He, Eragon and Saphira were shocked at _his_ retelling of events in Urû'baen, namely how the entire city had been levelled.

Brom winced. "As much as I applaud your enthusiasm, that wasn't a very good idea. You've made a lot of people homeless with your actions."

"Only people loyal to the Empire," Nyos pointed out. "Those who oppose the king will find residence with relatives or be taken in by King Orrin in proper, working conditions."

"If they don't freeze or starve to death," Eragon observed.

"The man I left in charge of the refugees if one I would trust with my life," Nyos said quietly. "He _will_ take good care of them. I guarantee it. Of course, some of the nobles and many soldiers remain loyalist to the king's cause, but they fled after realising the city was beyond saving. The poorest farmers and heaviest taxpayers all deserted rather quickly."

"What about the elf?" Murtagh queried after a brief silence. "She looked hurt."

"She _is_ hurt," Brom remarked. "Durza was probably torturing her for hours on-end about anything he could think of on a whim."

"That bastard! I'll have his heart on a stick for this," Eragon growled, surprising Murtagh greatly with his venom.

_Hmm… I wonder if he's enamoured with her... I think I'll stay even further away from her then, just in case. There's no need for any conflict here. I have no interest in her romantically._

Brom rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder for a moment, nodding gently. "I know how you feel, Eragon. The king and his servants all have a lot to answer for."

"Can we help her?" Harry asked quietly, trying to fight off a grin as the little dragon hatchling struggled to climb onto his shoulder. It finally managed the act and sat there, perched with an innocent expression on its face as it studied them one-by-one. Saphira let out a low murmur and it cocked its head towards her, before happily skipping over beside her. Saphira opened one of her eyes and watched it carefully.

"I'm not sure," Brom said. He scratched his beard absently. "I believe Durza gave her a poison known as 'Skilna Bragh', for which the antidote only exists in two places."

"I don't suppose we could find a goat nearby, could we?" Harry asked hesitantly, partially disgusted by the thought.

"No, why do you ask?" Brom asked with interest.

"Goats carry a magical stone inside their stomachs known as a 'bezoar', which will save you from most poisons." Harry grimaced, knowing how much his words echoed those of Snape many years ago.

"Interesting," Brom said with appreciation. "But I don't think that would help us, in any case. This poison is used because it has only one antidote, known as Tunivor's Nectar, which resides only with the elves or the Varden."

"Since we're already travelling southeast, I presume you're leading us to the Varden," Eragon observed. "Is the forest not closer to our location?"

"It is, but their cities are hidden deep within the forest's belly," Brom answered. "I know the exact way to the Varden, so it's the logical choice. One could wander for years without finding an elven city."

"And if she dies in their presence, it would be much worse for us," Nyos added casually.

"Nobody's going to die," Eragon stated flatly. "We're going to save her."

"This is war, boy. People die everyday, and after what happened at the capital, the king will retaliate. As a former captain, I can tell you all about it. I'm not saying she will die – point in fact, I hope she doesn't – but you better be prepared in case the worst does come to pass. Nothing is certain."

"What _will_ the king's next move be?" Murtagh asked, hands clasped together in a thoughtful manner. "If you ask me, he'll target Surda, and that would be trouble we've never before seen."

Brom was alarmed at that. "That hadn't occurred to me, but he needs time to bolster his forces. If he does attack, hopefully the Surdans will have strengthened their defences and reinforced their army. They need to hold out for as long as possible."

"To be honest, it wouldn't surprise me if he begins to slaughter his own people in droves," Nyos observed with a grim expression. "He could massacre thousands of innocents, and threaten to keep doing so if the eggs aren't returned, or if the Riders don't bend the knee."

"Regardless of what he does, we can't turn back now," Eragon said firmly. "Saphira and I would rather die than pledge allegiance to that oath-breaker, and now that Harry is in the same situation things have become even more critical."

Eragon was also feeling relieved about how some of the burden had been lifted off his shoulders, but decided to keep that quiet. He didn't want to seem like a petulant child.

"Why did the egg hatch so quickly?" Harry suddenly asked. "It took Saphira over three weeks to appear after her egg was found by Eragon."

Saphira chose that moment to intervene, and her yawn shook the whole camp. She had been greatly tired after her arduous flying recently. Nobody had gotten much sleep since Teirm, and since yawning was contagious, Harry began to feel drowsy all of a sudden.

_Soon, _he promised himself. _I'll sleep as soon as I can._

The hatchling turned to face him, its sparkling eyes watching him intently.

"_I guess I'll have to get used to this mental link, although that shouldn't be a problem. It's almost second nature now, isn't it?" _he asked, sounding out each word carefully. _"And you need a name. Don't worry, I'll think of something soon, and it won't be anything stupid. I'm not Sirius or my father, after all." _

The dragon shut its eyes and fell asleep, starting to gently hum.

"_I believe the reason is that the hatchling sensed a moment of supreme comfort or urgency," _Saphira declared. _"Considering the circumstances, it could very well have been either, if not both at once. I took a long time to hatch because I wanted to get as used to Eragon as possible first, in order to ensure we were right for each other." _

"Are you saying… _he_ might not have hatched for me at all?" Harry questioned, thinking the moment in question had obviously been his daydream. The embryo must have felt his mind while it had occurred, meaning that it had chosen Harry as soon as he rescued it. Harry felt his heart warm at the thought, but he also knew his life was changed forever. He simply hadn't got used to the feeling yet, although it was similar to when Hagrid first told him he was a wizard.

"Dragon lore is complex at best," Brom said wisely. "One thing we do know is that a groomed dragon egg will only hatch when it feels the presence of its Rider. It'll wait forever if it has to. This points to several possibilities, most notably that if the potential Rider is killed, another candidate will take precedent."

"So, if I had died, Saphira would have hatched for somebody else," Eragon nodded in understanding.

"Exactly. Harry's dragon may very well have hatched for another if he had never arrived here at all. It could even have been any one of the people around this fire, but since he _did_ appear, the egg detected his presence and fixated itself upon Harry," Brom explained. "It felt his potential was greater than that of anybody else."

"Because of my magic?"

"Possibly, but there really are dozens of potential reasons. Magical strength, personality, age… even gender plays a role for _some_ dragons."

"The egg could never have hatched for _you_, though," Eragon said sharply, "because you've already had a dragon before, right?"

Brom sighed as he brought out his trusty pipe and lit it on the fire. "I told you that we'll speak of that at another time. It's not a pressing issue."

"Oh, how do you figure?" Eragon asked, almost sounding insulted.

"Well, what's changed? I'm still going to teach you – both of you, now – what you need to know, and I'm still very much the same person-"

"And your nose hasn't started growing longer, either," Harry cut-in. He shook his head and held up his hands at the incredulous looks sent his way.

"Anyway… the only thing that's changed is you knowing something about my past that you previously didn't. Maybe if you weren't so bloody curious we could keep this under wraps for a little while. And _don't_ mention it to anybody when we reach the Varden," he added intently, pointing his pipe dangerously at the young man.

"Fine," Eragon said in the same tone as Brom, causing the old man to roll his eyes.

"Do you have a name chosen yet?" Murtagh directed at Harry.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He had been thinking about this. "Well… not quite. I know how strongly compelled I was by my saving grace a while ago, but I'm starting to doubt what really happened. Dragon hatchlings are incapable of speech at first, so it stands to reason that eggs are essentially unborn babies, in a way… _how_ could he have spoken to me, but not be able to do so now?"

"It's a mystery," Brom said lowly. "Dragons are capable of magic we can barely envision at the best of times. Half of the time, they don't know what they're doing themselves."

"Then why did he tell me he already had a name?" Harry asked, perplexed. "And what about the voice that spoke to Eragon? There must be something else going on we don't know about."

He directed that last sentence specifically at Brom, accompanied by a knowing half-glare, half-questioning look. Brom had taken too many liberties in keeping secrets from them, and Harry really didn't want to have to deal with another Dumbledore. Sure, he was wise, but he was almost certainly bat-shit crazy. Thankfully, Brom was not… he hoped.

"If there were other dragons in the world, I would tell you," Brom stated flatly, narrowing his eyes at Harry's accusatory expression.

"What about an ordinary magician?" Murtagh wondered.

"If his defences were activated, there's no chance they could have entered his mind without an invitation," Nyos said with a shake of his head. "Even Galbatorix would have to batter his defences to gain entry."

"They were definitely up," Harry said sheepishly. "But in any case, I don't believe this dragon is the 'Fírnen' I encountered. I'll think of a different name."

Eragon looked at the emerald hatchling and smiled, remembering Saphira being that small. The partner of his soul felt the memories and radiated joy at how he remembered them so precisely.

"_How could I ever forget? Meeting you was the happiest moment of my life."_ He said, leaning his head against her foreleg. He felt her happiness at that statement.

"_I can't remember everything from then, little one, but I do know that I felt happy just being with you. I was even littler than you are now, and knew you would protect me." _

"_You know I'd protect you from the Gods themselves, even if they aren't real." _

"_So you no longer believe?" _she asked with genuine surprise.

"_Well… I'm not saying that, but don't think I haven't felt any doubt. I just haven't had time to think about it since Teirm. So much has happened in only a couple of days." _

"_I agree. I'm not sure if Harry should persist in casting those 'air-light' charms, however. They make me feel unnatural, as if I can't control my own body comfortably." _

Eragon frowned. _"Really? I'll mention it to him." _

"_It can wait. Now, you need to rest." _

"_I shall, but tell me one thing: how do you feel about… 'this'?"_

Saphira paused to consider the question. _"I feel rather like an elder dragon who must protect her young, but I know what you mean. There is too much of a difference between myself and the hatchling to even consider him a mate at this point, so that can wait until we are closer together in size and he is older." _

"_How do you know it's definitely a 'he'?" _

"_I felt his mind," _she replied simply, and he nodded in response.

Harry yawned widely as he watched Eragon fall asleep, knowing that he and Saphira were having a private conversation and not wanting to intrude. He looked over at Brom questioningly, who nodded, as if to say: 'I'll take watch'.

_I know what it's like talking to Saphira, but I wonder how it feels to be connected with someone so strongly. Well, here's to a long and happy life of finding out,_ he thought, before drifting off entirely.

The thought that he was now immortal in age never even crossed his mind.

* * *

Galbatorix stood in front of a smoking mass of wood and broken metal, staring into space as he struggled to contain his fury.

He had arrived back at the city after several hours of flying, expecting his guards to have captured the thieves. Instead, what greeted him was destruction on a scale so large it had visibly shocked him, something which had not occurred since his first dragon had died a very long time ago.

The king stood outside, seemingly impassive now. He had collapsed the walls to see the extent of the devastation, and had then frozen in place for over an hour.

He was, quite simply, in a state of shock.

How was it possible?

How could _anybody_ have breached _his_ wards?

How could they have known where to find the eggs?

How could they have escaped?

And, how the hell could they have destroyed the city so quickly and so simply?!

He ground his teeth, feeling his fingers clench of their own accord around the hilt of his sword. He would kill them all for their insolence, except the Riders that would undoubtedly come of this travesty. _They_ he would subjugate, and delight in torturing a thousand times over until they paid for this sin. But he would kill everybody else. The guards who deserted, the people who fled… they would all suffer grievously for this betrayal.

As he stood there, trying to fit the pieces together, Durza reappeared at his side. The Shade's additional power meant that his returns were generally much quicker than normal, unluckily for him. Galbatorix rounded on him as soon as he materialised, his eyes flashing in pure rage.

"You! You detestable little piece of shit!" The king growled and punched the Shade as hard as he could in the stomach, sending him flying over twenty feet. Durza lay there, sprawled out, as he coughed up a mouthful of blood, before rising to his knees.

"M-my lord, I can only crave your pardon."

Galbatorix drew his sword and held it directly in front of where the foul creature's heart was. "You're lucky I still have _some_ more use for you, or I would kill you now for losing the elf and my eggs."

"But, sire, I was not here at the time," Durza protested quietly, knowing it was possibly the prelude to digging his own grave. He would have offered to immediately track down the boy, but he had somehow lost the presence. It was as though his mental strength had increased beyond measure, and something was blocking the Shade as a result. The king seemed to know it as well.

"The Ancient Language oaths!" the king screamed at him. With a roar, he whipped around and threw a massive fireball towards the group of noblemen who had stood there, engulfing them in flames.

The men's screams cut through the early morning air in a manner that would raise hairs on the back of the neck, and they slowly melted from the inside out. Durza watched as the flesh was liquidised around their bones, leaving nothing but puddles of human remains behind. He flicked his gaze back to the king, who was glaring at him now, and then to the ground, swallowing in fear.

"Explain to me how my elite guards… were able to betray me!" the king shouted.

"My lord, I…I have no idea."

"No? Shall I enlighten you, Durza?" he asked menacingly.

"N-no, sire. T-that is, I c-can think now… of why that is," Durza said fearfully.

"Then tell me. But know that every time you displease me I shall break a bone in your body," he spat.

Durza almost shivered in fear. "I…I did not gain Ancient Language oaths from the ordinary soldiers or the general that I-."

SNAP!

The king used magic to twist the Shade's arm behind his back, before wrenching it so high and wide that the bone was wrung in two.

Durza screamed in pain, howling miserably as a burning ache threatened to overwhelm him with pure, unfiltered agony.

"I find your screams most annoying and that also displeases me," Galbatorix said flatly, before repeating the process with his left arm.

Durza choked down his cries as the pain doubled, and instead let his breath come out in quiet sobs.

"Oh, come now, that is hardly behaviour befitting someone with such power," Galbatorix said in a nasty tone of voice.

CRACK!

With a slight push of his will, Durza's kneecap popped right off. Howling in anguish and visibly crying now, the red-haired demon fell to the ground, unable to stand. He tried to use magic to heal the injuries, but the king did not allow it.

"Trying to get out of punishment is something that I hate!" he growled, before turning his flat palm ninety degrees.

Durza's other leg responded to the movement by twisting until the leg bone broke in half.

Galbatorix was starting to get seriously annoyed by the Shade's screams as they intensified again, so he decided to forcefully remove his tongue. Durza began to choke on his own blood and tried to twist his head to the side in order to spit it out, but the king saw that coming and kicked him in the cheek, breaking his jaw so badly that fragments of bone were sticking out of his face.

And so Durza lay there in a pool of his own blood, nothing more than a broken mess. He was making a series of horrible strangling noises, unable to do much else.

"Let's see how long you can last there," the king suggested with a sneer. "If you heal yourself or kill yourself to ease the pain, I will torture you over and over until the Sun burns itself out. If you try to flee or make any sound at all, I will run you through with this sword."

Durza lay perfectly still, knowing his breath was coming out as a pained wheeze. With the blood starting to accumulate, he purposefully used his nail to stab himself in the neck, making a small hole for air to enter through. He almost prayed for death.

The king watched him for a moment, before turning away. He obviously should never have trusted the Shade in earning the loyalty of the soldiers. He made a mental note to have every future recruit swear fealty to him, and to abide by an Ancient Language contract that stated they would die if said loyalty was broken.

But still, the damage was done. He had already sought out the eggs with his mind, but they were gone for definite. His citadel was in ruins, and his treasury was probably empty. The only good thing to come from this was that he had kept the hoard of Eldunarí hidden outside of the city. He was certain no one would ever find them, but he had also felt certain the eggs were unreachable.

That thought brought with it a stab of doubt. How _had_ they gotten through his wards? He had personally erected the barriers, so their strength was unmatched. If someone had broken them down with such speed and without setting off the traps… it could only point to the existence of an incredibly powerful foe, and that possibility couldn't be ignored.

He remembered Durza telling him about the boy travelling with the Rider. He had mentioned how this boy would become more powerful than the Rider himself, courtesy of his meshing two different forms of magic. If that boy ever became a Rider to boot…

Galbatorix blinked, and then visibly _shivered_. For the first time since ascending the throne, he felt a module of fear and panic combined. This boy could rival him in strength if he played his hand of cards correctly, Eldunarí or not. He had to be eliminated. There was no other option, even if he did become a Rider.

It would be a loss, of course, but a necessary, justified and measured one at that. The other male dragon and the female could breed, so there would be no lasting harm done.

No matter what happened, he needed to find out that Word immediately. The Canderin magicians were several days off, but he wouldn't use them to create Shades anymore. This whole incident had shown him that Shades couldn't be trusted. He needed someone that _could_ be trusted.

_I wonder if… no, it's impossible… or is it? Maybe if I reverse the idea of a Horcrux with enough human power and sacrifices…_

He smirked to himself. Yes, that was perfect. A little visit from a ghost would cause the Varden to piss their pants, especially considering who he intended to bring back.

"Are you still alive, Durza?" he asked over his shoulder.

A non-comprehensible groan was his answer.

"Good. I'm going to need you at full strength for this." He quickly levitated the Shade off the ground and healed his injuries. Durza looked surprised. "But know this: if you ever fail me again… you had best not return. Run as far and as fast as you can, or I swear I will rip your heart out with my bare hands."

Durza nodded. With a flick of his wrist, the king threw him to the ground again and turned back to the ruined city.

He shut his eyes and began to utter long, complex phrases in the Ancient Language whilst reaching for his power. The effort was simple; the strength inside him was unparalleled. Before him, the city began to contact and reshape itself. Seemingly in an impossible manner, rubble began to fold away into specks of dust. Metal and wood were reduced to hundreds of times smaller than normal, all combining to form a perfect sphere of black and brown that hovered above his palm, twisting and spinning continuously.

In a few seconds, an entire city had been vanished, and now rested upon the palm of Galbatorix's hand. He thought quickly, deciding to check the Eldunarí before deciding where to build the new fortress he had in mind. It wouldn't be a simple city, but a massive dome of impenetrable steel, reinforced with magic so powerful it would make the earth beneath it tremble.

He then proceeded to mentally seek out his secret stash of Eldunarí, hidden where only he knew. He nodded to himself, satisfied that all were accounted for, and turned back to the pathetic little pissant behind him.

"Come. Show me this new ability of yours," he commanded. "We're travelling to Gil'ead while I plan how the hell to retrieve those eggs. Tracking them through the desert is impossible."

Durza hurried to his side. "It's a trick I inherited from the boy I absorbed, sire," he quickly explained unnecessarily. "If I may, sire," he said, indicating his outstretched, bloody arm.

The king was reluctant to take it, but did so, eying the Shade suspiciously.

Then, with a loud crack, they disapparated.

* * *

Harry was awakened by Brom shaking him. He wearily opened his eyes, feeling the lack of sleep over the past few days culminate in s near-feeling of exhaustion. He almost panicked as one of his eyes didn't seem to open, but then remembered, and instead felt depressed.

The little dragon, feeling his pain, sat on his lap and rested its head against his chest, bringing a weary smile to his face. Nearby, Brom was now hastily destroying all signs that they had been there.

"We have to keep moving," he announced. "We still have a few days of hard riding ahead, and that's only if we keep up this greater pace."

"We're one horse short now," Eragon pointed out. He had clearly been awake for some time now, and looked surprisingly refreshed. "I'll ride Saphira and Nyos can take Cadoc."

"Fine, but don't fly too far ahead," Brom said dismissively. "We need to stay together. The closer we get to the Beors, the more dangerous creatures we're sure to encounter."

Murtagh had barely slept at all the previous night, as his mind combed over the details of what the future would now hold. Whilst a lot of people wouldn't comprehend the situation, he was fully aware of the danger the entire land was now in. "What are you planning to do about a source of water?" he asked Brom. "Desert tribes keep their wells hidden and there are no lakes or rivers for hundreds of miles."

"I can handle that," Harry said groggily, as he stood up and stretched. Reaching for the energy now stored in his wand, he used a little to wash away the desire to sleep in his mind and instantly felt fully awake.

"You should start by filling the waterskins now," Eragon told him. "We might need them during the day."

Harry noticed that Eragon seemed more decisive than ever before, and could only put the change down to the appearance of the elf. He noticed the young man was making sure she was tightly and safely strapped to Saphira's underside, who growled in annoyance.

"_This is the fourth time in ten minutes. Hurry up and get on before I fly away and leave you here." _

"_I'm just making sure she doesn't fall!" he protested. _

"_If she does I will catch her, or have you so little faith in my flying abilities?" _

Eragon grumbled, but didn't deign to respond. That was a classic trap where the options were either admitting that he didn't and possibly being swatted for his trouble, or admitting that he _did_ and losing the argument. Instead, he walked around and climbed on top of her back. He shook his head when Harry approached.

"Don't cast the charm again. Saphira says it makes her feel out of control."

"Really?" Harry asked in surprise. "I see… well, I apologise, Saphira. I had no idea that would happen or I would have told you."

Saphira inclined her head to show that he was forgiven, and he instead turned to the waterskins, casting _Aguamenti _at each in turn.

"_Great, so that's another charm I can only use sparingly." _

The emerald dragon looked at him curiously. He was going to deliberately utter his thoughts across their mental link, in order to help him learn how to speak as quickly as possible. Simple words alone had taken weeks for Saphira to learn, he remembered.

"_I know Saphira said she felt your mind, but I'll ask, just in case. You are male, right?" _

The dragon seemed to assure him that it was.

"_Okay… well, I'll think of a name as soon as I can, and then I'll see if you like it or not." _

Harry finished with the waterskins and threw them to their respective owners, before attaching his to the secure belt around his waist. He then checked every other piece of equipment he owned, taking care to search through his bottomless and weightless pouch. His fingers absently brushed against the spine of a book, which he hastened to remove.

"_I'd forgotten about this," _he admitted, recognising the purple tome as the one he had stolen from the king's personal library. "Brom, could you take a look at something for me, please?"

Brom mounted his horse and nodded, prompting Harry to throw the book up. He hesitated, not wanting it damaged, but decided to trust the old man and tossed it over. Brom caught it with ease and carefully scrutinised the title.

"Hmm… where did you get this?" he asked with interest.

"Galbatorix's library."

Brom's eyes widened in shock. "His own personal library?!"

Harry merely nodded, causing the former Rider to scoff.

"Well, I must admit this is a rare find. The title is definitely in the Ancient Language, but I have never heard of either word before. By the looks of this, it has never been opened before, and I don't recommend you start reading it now."

"Why not?" Harry asked, climbing on top of Godric. He extended his arm and mind simultaneously. In response, the hatchling tried to glide over to him. It didn't quite make it, being unaccustomed to its wings, and could only stand beside the horse, looking up at him with a sad expression.

Harry rolled his eyes in amusement and leaned down to pick it up. It immediately felt happier, causing him to grin. Harry's senses were definitely elevated by this new bond, and it truly felt great. He would undoubtedly worry about negative emotions as time went on, such as fear and pain, but for the moment he was content.

"Books written in the Ancient Language can have great power. Sometimes they are even useful spells, but other times… they are cursed," Brom said. "You may lose your vision entirely when you open that book, or you may be inflicted with a desire to kill people."

"Sounds risky," Harry deadpanned.

Nyos shrugged on top of his horse, lighting a pipe of his own. He was now dressed in simple travelling clothes, and Harry noticed his armour was lying discarded among the fire. "It could just make you run around villages naked, screaming about how fairies are trying to steal your soul."

Harry choked on the water he had decided to drink at that very moment. "Eh… I think I'll put it away," he said, taking it back gingerly and hastily stuffing it into his bottomless pouch. In a moment of inspiration, he drew his wand and blasted Nyos' armour into oblivion to protect his presence, earning him a grin in thanks and startling the hatchling beside him.

Being on the very edge of the desert, there was little by-way of vegetation and wildlife, to say nothing of the lack of cloud cover. Spring it may have been, but Harry could only compare this to the stories he had heard of the equator. The Sun was beating down around them relentlessly, casting its imposing hue of near-deadly heat over the entire surrounding area. It was somewhere between early morning and noon, so he knew it would only get much hotter in a couple of hours. Brom had obviously wanted to get a head-start before that occurred.

Harry responded to the slight cries of the hatchling by digging around in the pack he attached to the side of Godric and producing enough meat to feed himself for an entire week.

"Be careful with that," Brom warned. "I meant to say to you a few days ago that the meat you replicate doesn't appear to be as fresh as the original cut."

"It's probably an elevated transfer of bacteria," Harry replied, frowning. "I need to practice the spell a little more to remove the impurities."

"What's 'bacteria'?" Murtagh asked, slowly trotting Tornac over beside him.

"Bacteria are… well… I don't know enough science to put it into words. I can only tell you they're what cause food to turn rotten if it's exposed in open air for too long, although there are also _good_ forms of bacteria inside your own body."

"Riders learned long ago that tiny life forms caused that to happen," Brom explained. "Your people must just have named them differently to our own."

Harry nodded. "I'll think of a way to stop them from having an effect or to eliminate them altogether."

Saphira snorted. _"Dragons have stronger stomachs than you little humans. Such things do not bother us." _

Harry took her word for it and, very carefully, began to feed the dragon every scrap of meat he could personally find. He almost lost his fingers several times during the process. The hatchling then decided to curl up on his shoulder and fall asleep, which would make the day's riding quite a bit harder.

Harry grimaced. "He's digging his claws into my back," he grumbled.

Eragon laughed as the group set off, with Brom in the lead. "Welcome to my world," he chuckled, before Saphira took off.

"_And what a world it is," _Harry muttered across his new mental bridge.

He received a slight cry of acknowledgement.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen – Dream Stare **

The hooded and cloaked figure silently walked along the paved road before it, carefully ensuring each deliberate step was silent and ghost-like. It couldn't afford to be seen. Not tonight. This was too important and if caught, death would be no less a certainty than the rise of the Sun each morning.

The young woman under this guise frowned as she observed the setting before her. It was a typical, rowdy establishment, full of boisterous drinking and less than reputable characters.

Or so any pursuer would think.

Quickly, she spared a second to glance around her; confident of not being followed, the illusive persona strode confidently into the inn. Conversation didn't cease, but a few heads turned in her direction, and she threw the hood back so that they could see her face clearly. Confident that this was one of their own, the men and women went back to their drinking.

Cautiously, she approached the bar, where the innkeeper was polishing a large glass with a slightly dirty cloth. He was an old man, with mismatched grey hair and blemished skin.

"Is everything in place?" she asked lowly.

"You're late," came the gruff reply.

She felt her anger flare slightly at that. "I had to lose a tail. Four of them were following me from the first relay point. They're getting smarter, but they weren't quick enough this time either."

The barman grinned. "Am I to assume four men are lying unconscious in an alleyway, their bollocks beaten and bruised?"

"Two of them were women, but I left the four in a more conspicuous place," she replied, trying to ignore her friend's typically rough sense of humour.

"Oh? Where might that be?"

She leaned forward on the bar counter, hands clasped tightly. "Let's just say they'll be in for a shock tomorrow morning when some mutual friends of ours wake them up."

The barman scoffed, but then decided to take a more serious tact. "If you were to stay here with us, this wouldn't happen at all."

"Don't get condescending with me, Dawlish," she snapped. "I trust you about as far as I can throw you, even if you don't work for the Ministry anymore. Let's not forget you tried to have Dumbledore arrested on Umbridge's orders a couple of years ago."

Dawlish shrugged and resumed his menial task. He hated being under such a lowly glamour charm. "Up to you, I guess. But you should know I regret those days. We all do things we aren't proud of, and the Imperius Curse can be a powerful motivator."

She scoffed at that. "Kingsley seems willing enough to bring you in on this, so I'll take his word for it. Now, is the floo connected?"

Dawlish nodded. "Good for one trip back and forth. The others are already waiting. I can tell you now, though, Kingsley is _not_ a happy man."

"What happened?" she asked lowly, the voices masking her own. As a pre-determined part of their hideout rules, this bar was only one of thee places that could reach the hideout location. Each man and woman inside was working on their side, but all eleven of the current occupants weren't informed of meeting points or times. Nor were they trusted with the finer points and details. Kingsley no longer trusted anybody he wasn't on personal terms with, and she couldn't say she blamed him, either.

Dawlish leaned a little closer. "It seems that arse Weasley is throwing a fit about calling off the search, even though the Ministry no longer has a choice. It's been four months, and all bets are off by now."

"He's my friend, so don't talk about him like that," Hermione said angrily. She wouldn't stand for anyone saying something so low-down about Harry. He had saved them all, so implying so casually that he may be dead was truly repulsive. "Both of them are, in fact, so don't call Ron an arse either. I'm the only one who gets to do that."

Dawlish scoffed. "I'm only saying it as I see it. No need to act so insulted. Anyway, the Minister is very pissed off because he's refusing to attend to his duties until the search is resumed, which has left us even more short-handed than usual. Not that I'm complaining. The boy couldn't tell his arsehole from his elbow, let alone out-duel former Death Eaters. Bringing him in was a complete waste of resources. _You'd _be a much better Auror."

Hermione shook her head, deciding it was pointless to argue against his slights towards Ron. She really couldn't blame him, in any case. "I can't. You know I'm needed elsewhere, especially now with _her_ trying to assume control," she said in a disgusted tone.

"To each their own," he replied with clear disappointment. "You'd better get going, before he has my head on a plate for keeping you too long."

Hermione nodded and quietly approached the door at the rear of the pub. It was a very clever piece of magic that she herself had created. The room itself was placed under fidelius, as opposed to the entire bar. As a result, only the people trusted enough with attending meetings were told the secret, so even the patrons nearby were unaware of how to find it. They saw her vanish after a split second, seemingly into thin air. All knew what had happened, and accepted it as necessary.

Once inside what was essentially a discarded storage room with nothing but a dusty fireplace, she grabbed a handful of floo powder and threw it into the flickering flames. She shouted the destination clearly, and shut her eyes as that uncomfortable sensation which was floo travel engulfed her.

Hermione opened her eyes once more as the dizziness began to recede, and graciously accepted the proffered hand from the man before her. Flitwick was a very short man, but had great strength nevertheless. He helped Hermione to her feet, smiling warmly.

"Good to see you're still in one piece, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, returning his smile.

Flitwick lead her down a small, darkened corridor which held nothing but two separated doors. One was an active storage room, and the other the meeting place. He knocked three times, slowly, before pausing and knocking twice more. After a second, he knocked twice again, once up high and once low down.

The door opened immediately and Hermione blinked as a blinding light instantly overcame her. She was ushered inside by Flitwick, who quietly followed her, and felt a mysterious tingling sensation as she crossed the threshold.

"Tracers are clear," the Auror with the lit wand declared. "She's clean." He lowered said wand, and thankfully extinguished it, allowing her to see clearly once more.

The tracers were a special group of identification spells acquired from Goblin Director Ragnok for a hefty fee. They were very similar to the Thief's Downfall hidden deep within Gringotts in that they showed all manipulating charms, glamours and polyjuice potion as being active. In other words, nobody could enter this room wearing any type of disguise.

Hermione observed the scene before her. Sitting at a large, rectangular square table were Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Weasley clan, the Longbottoms, Andromeda and Ted Tonks, Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Slughorn and now Flitwick, as well as many others she recognised from her own school year and some surprise faces, including Viktor Krum.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"I asked him to come and provide intel on Durmstrang," Kingsley announced in his deep voice. "Please, be seated."

Hermione took his advice and quietly lowered herself into a chair next to Fleur and Ginny, who clearly still hadn't gotten any sleep. She looked like hell itself. Only Molly Weasley could smile at her, and it was the briefest movement. Everybody else was too sombre for such an action at this point. She could see that Dawlish's warning was in good taste; the Minister was deeply troubled, judging by the creases on his forehead and his whole body language in general.

"Now, we have some serious business to attend to tonight," Kinglsey began, catching the ubiquitous attention of the people present. "One of our DMLE contacts has provided us with information that Umbridge is officially trying to pass The Prison Reformation Bill, which will see the Dementors make a return to Azkaban."

There was much muttering and shivering at this realisation. Immediately following Voldemort's death, the Ministry had banished all Dementors through the veil in the Department of Mysteries. Anybody else would have been instantly executed, but the Dementors were not human, and instead wound up in a place between this world and the next, ready to appear again when called. This was only known because escapes were quite frequent, and the Obliviators were being given a hell of a time trying to repair the damage caused.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with that woman?" she half-muttered.

"She's bloody crackers," Ron replied from somewhere nearby. Hermione ignored him.

Kingsley raised his eyebrows. "Quite. But we all know how this plays directly into Malfoy's hands. He escaped our clutches, and now he's wreaking havoc from the sidelines. Manipulating Umbridge is just the beginning. She's already outlawed the use of pensieve memories in court, so nobody can accurately testify against her. In essentials, she's walked free from every crime she's been accused of towards Muggleborns while Voldemort was in control."

"It's worse than that," Percy supplied sullenly. "She sacked me this morning, claiming that I've breached proper conduct on multiple occasions. It's clearly just a deliberate affront towards our whole family. I think we can assume she's now targeting people who aren't loyal."

Arthur bristled with anger at his words. "She hasn't tried the same thing with me just yet, but I know Bill is working ridiculously long shifts, which is why he isn't here tonight. It's only a matter of time."

"I don't get what she expects to gain from all of this," Neville said with confusion, shaking his head. "The public wouldn't stand for her replacing Kingsley, which is obviously what she wants, even if she does have the Wizengamot in her back pocket."

"She wants to reinstate Malfoy," McGonagall said with disgust. "If she manages to do that, he can rally all remaining Death Eaters to their cause. Without Voldemort to preside over everyone, the more clever and ambitious among them will surely think of new ways to terrorise the public. The Dementors are a play to that effect. They've been caged by the Ministry, and will be quite easy to sway."

"In short, she must be _stopped!" _Kingsley said loudly, his voice echoing around the room in a powerful fashion. "I have no power to have her sacked due to that bloody loophole requiring all senior personnel to be publicly tried that she passed a few months ago. She doesn't dare try to accost me, but it is becoming a true pain in my ass."

"Why don't we just get rid of her?" Neville suggested simply, albeit bluntly.

All heads turned to face him.

"You mean _kill_ her?" Hermione exclaimed.

"Do you have a better idea?" he asked her pointedly. "She has that personal shield which can deflect most minor curses, so removing her memory isn't an option. She's too well protected outside of the Ministry to confront, so that idea is gone as well. That leaves us with two choices: we bend over and let her take control, or we eliminate the problem. She can't stop the killing curse."

"You've changed, Neville," Ron said quietly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Somebody has to step up to the plate," he replied with venom, aiming the accusation directly at Ron's ineffectiveness as an Auror trainee. "As far as I'm concerned, she deserves no mercy for what she did during the war, and how about before that?! Torturing students inside Hogwarts? Have you forgotten about that?"

"No, but that doesn't mean we should kill her!" Ron shouted. "We're better than the Death Eaters!"

"You don't win a war by being nice," Neville said sharply. "Last year Ginny, Luna and I had to save dozens of children from the Carrows and the Slytherins. While I would never do it to a child, I thought for hours about how we could have killed those two bastards!"

"Okay, enough!" Kingsley interjected loudly, before Ron could retort. He fell silent, but the two young men continued to glare daggers at each other. "Killing her isn't an option. We can't track her outside of the Ministry, and inside she's followed everywhere by bodyguards. Her food isn't made publicly, so we can't poison her either. We need to think of something else."

"She'll drag this country back to the Dark Ages," McGonagall said miserably, wiping her eyes slowly. "Voldemort was terrible, but she has something he did not: _patience._ She can fight us with economics, politics and logistics at the same time, while still commanding hundreds of pureblood supremacists, not to mention the coffers of _Lucius Malfoy_," she spat.

"Let's look at the situation bit-by-bit," Arthur said gently, trying to calm everything down. He picked up one of the many pieces of parchment that adorned the table before him. "She has a majority control of the Wizengamot, due to Death Eaters fleeing and taking up the positions once more after their Dark Marks faded. Since we can't directly accuse her of any wrongdoing and hope for a sentencing, she's immune in a political sense.

"For different reasons we can't have her killed – she's too well-protected, and many of us would be uncomfortable with the idea. Instead, let's talk money," he said, glancing down at the parchment. "If we can catch her committing a criminal offence her loophole will be forfeit and she'll be forced to resign on the spot, or be sent to Azkaban for contempt."

"We've been over this," Kingsley said wearily. "She doesn't need to commit any offence to obtain money – she has Malfoy behind her. And since Malfoy Manor was vaporised after Harry disappeared, we have no evidence that _he_ can be sentenced by using, either. In short, both are currently untouchable."

"Ah," Arthur said with a smile on his face, his eyes twinkling. "Let's not forget how fickle goblins can be. With the right leverage they may be willing to help us achieve our goals. I understand they now loath pureblood fanatics after Voldemort and that separate attack by several of his followers four months ago."

"What are you suggesting?" Kingsley asked carefully. "That we bribe them to falsely incriminate her? They may hate her kind, but they'll just as likely throw _us_ to the Wizengamot for even suggesting something so dishonourable, and that would give her precisely the opening she requires."

"No, of course not," Arthur said, shaking his head, his smile returning. "I'm suggesting that _we_ attack her on multiple fronts. With enough gold we can start buying portions of Diagon Alley, the Ministry itself, valuable properties, and so on. If we acquire enough we can bribe Ministry officials who are still fence-sitting into conspiring against her. We might even get the goblins on our side _honourably_ if we provide them with an incentive."

Kingsley, starting to put the pieces of Arthur's plan together, smiled for the first time that day. "And I take it you have such an incentive in mind?"

Arthur hesitated. "Well… normally I would never do so, but… I think we can all agree Harry is gone," he said quietly. There was a deathly silence. "We all want him back, but for now we have to try and move forwards without him. This parchment is a complete list of gold and goblin artefacts in the Potter family vault that I had Andromeda here acquire a short time ago. If we provide them with enough goblin-made items…" he trailed off, and people understood. Goblins prized nothing higher than their own artefacts, with the general belief that the maker was the true owner.

"How was that even possible?" Hermione asked with confusion, directing the question at accessing the vault itself.

"Remus and Tonks named Harry Teddy's godfather, but Harry placed him under the care of Ted and Andy whilst he had that mission to Japan shortly before disappearing. With him gone, they are his rightful guardians. Since he was informally adopted into the house of Potter, they are given partial access to his family vault."

"Partial?" Kingsley queried.

"They can't remove any family heirlooms, but can retrieve gold and artefacts, provided there is no written document stating otherwise. In this case, they asked for a record of the money stored within," Arthur said hesitantly. He quickly added: "you have to remember this is a vault Harry couldn't access until he came of age and he never had the chance, so technically it's been untouched for years at this point."

"How much?" Kingsley asked simply.

"Twenty six billion, give or take."

There were collective gasps and pure looks of shock around the room that almost made Hermione wish she had brought a camera were the atmosphere not so tense. Finally, after much mutterings of disbelief, Ron chose to crudely break the silence. To her disgust, Hermione detected a clear note of jealousy in his voice.

"Where the bloody hell did he get so much money?!"

"The Potter line stretches back for centuries," Arthur told his youngest son patiently. "Through prosperous marriages and business ventures, it has accumulated to this total, with a yearly rate of interest from the goblins, of course. There was a great reason Voldemort targeted the Potters in the first place. Their money put Lucius' trust fund to shame."

"And then some," Ron muttered to himself, although Hermione shot him a nasty look.

"Dumbledore wanted Harry to escape from the life of a celebrity," McGonagall admitted. "It's no wonder he never told him about this. That's a truly absurd amount of money."

"It's more than enough for us to achieve our goals," Arthur stated. "If we take certain amounts – leaving good portions for when he returns, of course – they can go a long way towards helping us remove Umbridge from office. It's what Harry would ask us to do. When she's gone, the corrupt officials will have nobody protecting them anymore, and that gives the Aurors leeway to move in and arrest at will."

"We'll need to move quietly," Kingsley said thoughtfully. "If she suspects anything then the game is up. Everybody in this room is already under observation. That's why we've increased security so dramatically. It's only a matter of time before she gets enough power to start removing anybody in her way. And when Malfoy bursts back onto the scene, we'll know things are really getting bad."

"I recommend we reinforce Hogwarts," Flitwick added in his high-pitched voice. "She's not Voldemort, but she certainly wants to be. And plenty of Death Eaters are still at large, looking revenge. I imagine they'd only be too happy to attack once again."

"You should include Azkaban on that reinforcement list," Hermione told Kingsley directly, causing him to study her intently. "If Umbridge attempts to have this law passed then the prisoners will be freed after she turns the Dementors. I would almost recommend pulling every guard out now, because it _is_ only a matter of time."

Kingsley nodded. "I'll consider it. But we don't need a media storm over cruel and unusual punishment at this stage. Umbridge directly controls the _Daily Prophet_, and Rita Skeeter is out for blood. If she writes something incriminating it could turn a lot of uncertain heads in the wrong direction. We also need to think of a way to destroy the veil in the Department of Mysteries, or at the very least, how to kill Dementors."

One of the only people there Hermione didn't personally know, a pale, raven-haired woman known as Chara, spoke up. "We are trying, Minister, but she's trying to reroute the work of all Unspeakables permanently. Hell, I'm being made to figure out how to _immunise_ them from the Patronus Charm."

"You're not, are you?" Kingsley asked, alarmed.

"Of course not," she said smugly. "It's not possible by magical law, but she doesn't have to know that."

"Good," Kingsley said in a smug voice. "In any case, I think that's us finished tonight. I'll contact you all via the usual method in a few days' time. Arthur, see what you can dig up on goblin law regarding this plan of yours. Kids, professors, keep an eye on the Slytherins. There are still Death Eater sympathisers among their ranks," he addressed the seventh years in particular with these last two sentences. Only people of age were permitted to come to these meetings, but some were still at Hogwarts, including Ginny and Luna.

"I still want that word with you, Minister," Ron declared as people began to stand up in a rush of voices.

"Fine. Follow me to my office. This is something that should be done in an official capacity. Krum, you come as well. I want that intel now," Kingsley declared, heading for the floo nearby. It was outgoing, only, as a means of protection.

"Ginny, can I have a word with you?" Hermione asked her friend quietly, ignoring everybody else.

The young redhead nodded, probably aware this was coming. Once the room was empty apart from the two of them, she began to speak.

"Ginny, you look terrible. When was the last time you slept?" Hermione demanded.

Ginny blinked as tears began to form rapidly at the corners of her eyes. "I-I can't sleep, Hermione. I just dream about him when I do."

Hermione studied her gently for a moment, before pulling her into a warm embrace. That did it for Ginny, who began to let her tears fall freely as she pined for the young man she loved. Hermione looked up at the ceiling, as if to see something there. She had to blink back tears herself as she thought of her missing best friend, who was more than likely dead.

"Where are you, Harry?" she whispered, choking up.

* * *

Harry gasped as he released the spell he had been holding. He watched the image flicker for a second before disappearing entirely, and hastily sat down, although it was more of a fall than anything. Thinking hard, he took a long draught of water to try and refill his energy levels, finding it circumstantial at best. He was too engrossed in the images to worry much about magical reserves at that moment.

"_Well, that was certainly illuminating," _he thought wearily across his mental bond. The dragon turned its eyes towards him, studying him intently. It sat, strangely, on the saddle of Godric. The horse didn't seem to be afraid of it, possibly because of how small he still was. Harry felt a questioning thought emanate from the hatchling.

"_It seems things have gone from bad to worse since I left_," he told him quietly. _"Voldemort is gone, but others clearly want to take over his position of power. The Ministry is in a state of disarray, so Umbridge is pressing her advantage home. If she manages to take over completely it'll result in a third war." _

"_Is… it… bad?" _came the uncertain reply.

Harry was amazed at how quickly Aru's speech was coming along. He was only three days old, but Harry's tactic of thinking directly across their mental link appeared to be granting some headway into the matter. He was able to absorb and eventually understand the words much quicker than Saphira had been capable of doing, which proved Harry's theory that communicating through thought was much more efficient than simply speaking aloud.

He had decided to name the dragon Arucane, which meant 'Everlasting Fire' in the Ancient Language. It seemed fitting for any dragon, and the name was accepted with great satisfaction from the emerald youngling. Harry also noticed his 'voice' was very deep, despite his youthful age. It would only get more prominent with time, he assumed.

Harry had found the bond difficult to manage at first, but now things were becoming much easier as he got used to the sensation. Surprisingly, he found himself able to talk with Aru even whilst asleep, which was peculiar in itself. It was similar to any regular dream in that it appeared to occur in real-time, but at such a quickened pace it was over in the blink of an eye.

"_It's very bad," _Harry responded ominously, closing his eyes and rubbing his brow to still the onslaught of a headache, courtesy of using so much energy. _"Umbridge is a royal bitch who delights in torturing children and purging Muggleborns. If Kingsley isn't careful he'll have a full-scale civil war on his hands._

"_I also don't get how Malfoy escaped. Before I came here, I was talking to Kingsley in person. He said Malfoy Manor was the base of operations for Voldemort for almost a whole year. Surely he found _some_ incriminating evidence hidden there." _

Aru sent him a flash of the conversation, and Harry heard Kingsley's voice as though it was actually him speaking.

"…_since Malfoy Manor was vaporised after Harry disappeared…" _

Harry sighed at that. _"I guess you're right. Having me find that Portkey obviously wasn't the whole plan. Blowing up the entire estate would clear his tracks and put the blame on my shoulders, so he could get off scot-free."_

Harry and Aru were learning about each other every passing moment of each day, and Aru had quickly caught on to how guiltily Harry could act. Even being a child in Harry's eyes, he tried to help soothe him by sending forth the most beautiful images he uncovered in Harry's mind. In this case, he chose to bring up a picture of Harry as a baby and his parents, who were laughing joyfully for the camera.

Harry stopped in his self-damning musings mid-thought. He had been thinking about how it was technically his fault that Malfoy had gotten away from justice, but Aru had interrupted him by dragging up one of the happiest memories he had.

Harry smiled, despite himself. He knew what Aru was doing, and it did feel wonderful to have somebody who could help him in such a way. He finally understood why Eragon and Saphira couldn't bear to be parted.

"_Thank you… little one," _he smirked. In reply he received an unusual image of a small green dragon rolling its eyes, which caused him to burst out laughing.

From behind him, Brom shouted: "would you kindly hurry the hell up? This soup isn't going to eat itself, but Nyos might if you don't come and bloody take it already!"

Harry snickered and rose to his feet with a slight groan. His bones really did ache after using that spell for such a prolonged period of time, but the smell of freshly-cooked stew thankfully quashed his misgivings and instead set his stomach rumbling. He hastily made his way back to camp, rubbing his hands together to still the night's uncommon cold. The desert was scorching hot during the day, but at night the Sun was as far away as it possibly could be, and so the temperature was well below zero. He wrapped the worn travelling cloak more tightly around his shoulders, noting it barely had any effect at stilling his shivering.

"Did you see much?" Brom asked as soon as he sat down beside the gracefully roaring fire. He noted the very young Rider had sores in his joints, which meant he must have been holding the magic for quite a long time.

Harry nodded as he quietly thanked Murtagh for passing him a bowl of stew and a slice of slightly hardened bread. "I saw quite a lot. It seems there are substantial difficulties back home within the government. Some corrupt groups are trying to seize power, and the people I know are trying to stop them. It didn't look good at all. I think civil war may be on the agenda at this rate."

Eragon noted his worried expression. He knew Harry better than any other person around this fire, and could tell he was blaming himself. "There's nothing you could have done," he said firmly. "You didn't choose to come here, and you didn't choose to become stranded either."

"True," Harry replied in-between mouthfuls. "It doesn't stop me from worrying."

"It never does," Brom told him tactfully. "Eragon also managed to successfully scry Roran a while ago."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What news?" he asked his friend.

Eragon grimaced, thinking back to the images he had seen. Roran was back in Carvahall, probably to try and help clear the rubble from their old farm. He appeared well enough, but looked more scraggly and haunted than Eragon had ever seen him. It must have been the culmination of his uncle dying and his two friends vanishing into thin air. He told Harry this, who became equally worried.

"I hope he's alright," Harry said quietly, gazing into the fire. It cracked in his ears constantly. "I don't want him to blame himself for what happened."

"He's smarter than that," Brom said shortly, noting how ironic Harry's words were. He didn't choose to point them out, however. Harry was more confident and decisive than ever before now, but his tendency to blame himself for things that were not his fault needed to be flattened as soon as possible. "I admit I didn't know him very well, but I do know he's intelligent enough to be aware that something important was happening. Our letters probably helped him to understand things a little better as well."

"Maybe when you get this 'teleporting' ability of yours back you can zip in there and help him," Nyos suggested after a brief silence.

"If I ever get it back again," Harry muttered, annoyed. "I've cast dozens of detection charms and spells which are supposed to cancel out curses since I got here, but nothing has worked. I don't know what happened to my apparition ability; it just seemed to stop functioning by itself."

Murtagh appeared troubled. He had thought of something then. "What if that part of Voldemort's soul was blocking the ability? Didn't you say he wanted you to remain here so he could feed off your negativity?"

"He said he never would have existed properly if I had lived a normal life," Harry frowned. "But when I first came to Alagaёsia I was in a bad state, so he starting growing in strength. That all came to a head when we had to flee Carvahall, but if he was blocking the ability, why is it still not working? He's dead, remember? Unless…"

Harry trailed off, and they all saw his eyes widen in shock upon realising something. Aru felt the emotions in his body run haywire and quickly sent over more calming images, which Harry ignored for once.

"Durza," he breathed furiously, almost growling at the thought of that vindictive bastard. "When I was fighting him in Teirm I caught a glimpse of his eyes flashing red. That was something which happened to Voldemort! He must have done something to the Horcrux before it died and then he absorbed the ability! That explains how he can get around the land so quickly!"

"You mean he can apparate?" Murtagh questioned, raising his eyebrows. "That _would_ explain a lot."

"That sneaky little son of a bitch," Harry half-whispered, shaking his head furiously. "It's no wonder he showed up so quickly after the spies tipped him off. They must have used magic to inform him and then he just apparated instantly."

"Well, there is one bit of good news in all this," Eragon smiled grimly. "If you kill him you should get the ability back again."

"But _how_ do we kill him?" Harry asked quietly, staring at the ground. "He had me at his mercy but chose to monologue a little, which cost him. He won't make that mistake again. And if he absorbed the Horcrux's energy somehow, then it's no wonder he's so powerful. That thing had much of Voldemort's strength before Murtagh stabbed it."

"I wish I had killed him as soon as I set eyes on him now," Nyos said quietly, appearing haunted. "It might have brought you back this ability and it wouldn't have cost you an eye."

"We've been over this," Harry said gently, remembering a conversation they had had two nights ago. He had been shocked at Nyos' revelation, but Aru had helped him piece together anything puzzling, and he knew nobody was to blame. "You couldn't have known who… _what_ it was. I don't blame you."

"In any case, it doesn't matter how strong he's become," Brom said, a glint in his eyes. "Just stick a sword though the bastard's heart and he's finished. Of course, you have to be good enough to beat him first, so…" he made a motion with both hands which plainly said: 'get up.'

Somewhat stiffly, Harry rose to his feet, followed slowly by Eragon and Murtagh. He knew practice was essential, regardless of how much his body screamed in protest. In response, Nyos lay back and shut his eyes beside the fire, plainly allowing them to see the satisfied smirk etched on his face.

"I'd hate to have to stand up for the rest of the night," he declared, mock-sighing. He chose to wait until they were challenging, or else his confidence would inadvertently make the experienced soldier think all opponents were no threat, something he couldn't afford to let happen. It didn't stop him from having his fun, however.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Make sure you don't accidentally roll into the fire…"

"Alright, shut up," Brom declared. "We're mixing things up a little tonight. All four of us will be sparring, but I'll randomly call for you to switch partner. In a real battle you could be attacked by multiple enemies at once. Learning how to counter numerous fighting styles is an absolute _must._ Eragon, you start with me."

Harry stood a few feet apart from Murtagh, eyeing him warily. They had sparred the previous night, so Harry knew his tactics were more brutally offensive than his own. It required great concentration to best, along with a sustained and comfortable posture. Harry was suitably impressed by the young man's abilities, and even Brom had been quick to point out he had some serious skill.

Harry allowed the sounds of Brom and Eragon clashing steel together to wash over him. The grating of one edge along another could make the hairs on his neck stand upright, but he had to get used to the feeling. Slowly, he began to move to one side, holding the blade pointed upwards in his right hand. Harry liked to fight defensively whenever possible; trying to catch an opponent off-guard was more efficient than charging in headfirst, in his opinion.

A speck of dust tried to assault his good eye, and forced him to blink. Murtagh chose that opening to strike. Harry barely raised his sword to deflect the sweeping blow, and the force of impact knocked it backwards by a few inches. Murtagh attacked him again, this time from a higher position. Harry countered by swinging to his right and deflecting the attack, but also followed through with a complete spin, at the end of which he lightly whipped the point of Aiedail across Murtagh's chest.

Murtagh let out a small breath as he felt the dulled point nick his torso, and reflexively began to rub at the sore spot, which proved to be a mistake. Harry took advantage of his brief lapse of concentration by raining down a combination of powerful, two-handed blows that almost knocked him off-balance. Murtagh hastened to block the volley, and felt his palms sting from the impact of each strike.

At one point Harry thought he might break through his opponent's guard completely, but it was never going to be that easy. He saw Murtagh stumble and hastened to lunge towards his stomach, something that would have been a killing blow were the blades not protected. However, before the thrust landed its mark, Murtagh whipped his sword around with alarming speed and knocked it to one side. Harry looked immediately to Murtagh's face, where he saw a smug grin planted.

_He was feinting!_

The realisation came too late, however, as Murtagh spun around and caught Harry in the stomach with an outstretched kick. Harry felt his breath leave him at the impact and couldn't stop himself from falling to his knees. He immediately felt the edge of Murtagh's sword lightly brush the back of his neck and sighed, throwing his weapon down.

Murtagh chuckled and extended a hand, which Harry graciously accepted. He picked the sword up again and was pulled to his feet with a slight wheeze, his lungs struggling to refill again. Murtagh clapped him on the back in a good-natured manner.

"You'll be alright, just walk it off," he advised.

Harry nodded his thanks and turned to watch Brom and Eragon, who were still fighting. Eragon and Harry had both progressed remarkably in the art of sword-fighting, but hadn't practiced with Brom himself for several days now, and Eragon forgot the old storyteller would fight dirty when given the chance. Eragon took a step forward with the aim of swinging overhead, but Brom took that as an opportunity to kick up a cloud of dust from the cold sand beneath his feet.

Harry grimaced in sympathy as Eragon caught a face-full of the dirt and began to splutter indignantly, as well as shut his eyes in pain. Brom smirked and lurched forward. He stuck a leg behind those of Eragon and, with great force, clattered him in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. Murtagh winced at the impact.

"I think he'll need a bit longer," he chuckled morbidly.

Eragon groaned as he rose to his feet. "I forgot you fight like that," he admitted.

"Like what?" Brom asked rhetorically, examining his fingernails nonchalantly.

"Full of cheap tricks."

"Those 'cheap tricks' just won me the fight," Brom smirked, sounding chiding. "In a real skirmish they can save your life, so you'll do well to use them." He turned to face the other pair. "Harry wins."

Murtagh's eyes widened in indignation. "What! I knocked him down with one blow!"

"Yes, but he caught you in the chest long before that. If the sword wasn't dulled the point would have completely skewered you. That sword is damn sharp, remember. It isn't a Rider's blade, but the next best thing."

Murtagh shook his head in admonishment.

"Oh, don't worry," Brom chided in amusement. "You'll get your chance. We've only just started. But for now, switch partner!" he shouted happily. "Harry, it's your lucky day!"

Harry groaned as he faced off against the former Dragon Rider.

"What's wrong with you?" Eragon demanded grumpily, eyeing Saphira, whose pointed teeth kept appearing and disappearing in a peculiar fashion. The elf rested comfortably below her, next to the fire.

"_Nothing. It's just funny to see the old one knock you down so easily." _

Eragon blushed as he realised she was laughing.

Brom turned a knowing expression towards Harry, who tried not to grimace. He knew rightly he was in for the same rough treatment, if he couldn't win.

"_I guess it'll be another long night," _he thought bitterly, getting an amused sensation from Aru in response.

* * *

Through their current progress, Harry calculated it would be on the fourth day since Aru hatched that they may finally come within sight of the Beor Mountains. Brom had praised Harry's magic highly, for, with the exception of Saphira, the featherlight charms he had cast meant they reached their current location in a fraction of the time it would have otherwise taken.

Travelling through the desert was arduous, as the Sun had a tendency to beat down upon them relentlessly. Brom ensured everybody was well-hydrated, and Eragon took it upon himself to ensure Arya was also in good health. Of her ailment Brom could do nothing, so they rode on at a ferocious pace, traversing dozens of leagues each day. Eragon had suggested they try and contact her mentally, but Brom had ruled against the idea, saying it was too risky.

"She's been poisoned badly, remember. This situation where she is unconscious is possibly of her own doing to lessen the effects, so any direct contact may undo that hard work. Just make sure she doesn't have a fever and keep her cooled down as much as possible. Saphira will provide shade from the Sun during the day."

They rode all day, and sparred by night. After their initial rustiness vanished, Eragon and Harry soon returned to peak physical condition, and then began to surpass their previous abilities. Brom mentioned that it was partially the effect of being Riders – both of them would be attributed much increased speed and strength overtime, both physically and magically. The more they practiced the more noticeable and effective their abilities would be. It was also thanks to their genuine, hard work, he added honestly.

For the present, however, the four of them were reasonably well matched with the blade. Nyos, upon seeing that they _did_ know what they were doing and would in fact be a challenge, decided to join in, and the five of them proceeded to batter each other senseless every night. It was always a lucky guess if somebody predicted who would win any ensuing match-up. Brom and Nyos had the value of experience, whereas the other three held youth and energy on their side.

Occasionally the two older men, who decided to take a split leadership in their blade training, decided a free-for-all was the way to go, with switching and teaming up frequent. It was deliberately unfair, designed so as to teach them about the true ways of the battlefield, and it soon sharpened their reflexes exponentially. Harry still sported a massive purple bruise on his upper left forearm from when both Brom and Nyos attacked him at once, odds none of the three had yet managed to overcome.

Being a former captain and part-time general under the king, Nyos also took time to teach them some of Galbatorix's military tactics, including how companies of soldiers tended to move, their weak spots and strong spots, among many other features. Brom was also interested in these discussions, and took part as well, to his credit.

Among all this, Eragon and Harry continued their own magical training. Murtagh listened-in with rapt interest during these times, although he did occasionally choose to go hunting instead. Harry promised himself he would one day ask to go as well, since he still hadn't learned anything about fighting with the bow and arrow. He was pleased with how far along his Ancient Language knowledge was coming, however. He now knew dozens of different incantations, although only a handful would really be useful in a fight. Brom had told them other certain phrases would be required when they trained under the elves, a prospect which excited them immensely.

Harry also found that his magical strength had been elevated to much greater heights since Aru hatched, and also discovered that, to his shock, every spell he now cast was a rich emerald colour, even his Latin abilities. Eragon's magic was likewise blue and Harry understood it as being natural for any Rider, but he didn't realise his wand magic would change since both types weren't necessarily connected. It surprised him greatly when his usual ruby disarming spell instead erupted with a flash of dark green, thankfully a much less ominous shade than that of the killing curse.

As part of his self-imposed training, Harry also took some time every night to work on improving his accuracy with the wand, having one brave volunteer stand a good distance away and be hit with a random assortment of jinxes and hexes. Before long he could use his mental abilities to feel minds with the utmost of ease as Nyos could, and was able to cast blindfolded with unprecedented accuracy. This also partially annulled his fears of being less effective in combat with one eye, a loss he nevertheless still lamented every night as he gazed up at the stars on his bedroll.

For his own part, Eragon chose to use his spare time by connecting more deeply with Saphira, a process he greatly enjoyed. They shared their deepest loves and fears, culminating in the two almost merging into one consciousness. Brom told them to stop when things went so far as for Eragon to actually threaten to tear a bird apart with his teeth one morning, after it chose his saddle to do some very unfortunate business on.

"If you go any farther with this you won't be able to exist at all separately from each other," Brom warned sternly as they rode side-by-side. "I know it's cruel to make you two stop, but we need you to be able to function individually as well as together. The bond between dragon and Rider runs deeper than anything, even true love between a man and a woman. If you let it go too far you may end up killing anyone who suggests the two of you go to separate places for a little while."

"It just seems _wrong_ to not deepen the connection," Eragon admitted. "Saphira is essentially one half of my whole being so I feel incomplete when we aren't together."

"That's as it should be," Brom told him patiently. "But you should still be able to operate apart whenever necessary. As time goes on the bond will naturally strengthen, so before long it won't really matter what we want or need to happen. Many dragons often fell in love with each other if their Riders did, or vice versa."

Harry choked on the water he unfortunately elected to sip at that very moment. He seemed to be making a bad habit of that recently. "Please tell me that can be avoided. Err… no offence, Eragon, but I'm just not down for that."

"And you think _I_ am?" Eragon asked incredulously. "I fancy women as well."

"Oh, I know. We've all seen Arya," Harry quipped.

Now it was Eragon's turn to splutter and blush a deep red as Brom threw back his head and laughed. Eragon did suffer from quite a bit of teasing, being the youngest in the group. They all took their turns, of course, but if Harry saw a chance to move himself out of the spotlight he would damn sure take it. Nyos in particular could be brutally sarcastic and humorously condescending when he wanted to be.

Through his tears of laughter, Brom managed to croak out a few words. "Don't worry, it can be avoided."

"Good," Harry and Eragon said in unison, causing him to redouble his laughter.

After a few moments, he seemed to calm down. Harry couldn't help that notice Brom was constantly in an unusually good mood these days, and could only ascertain it was due to his euphoria at the other eggs being rescued, and one subsequently hatching.

"I should probably advise you to be careful with Arya," he told Eragon, still grinning. "She's an elven princess and may think it's her duty to not court a Dragon Rider when the king is still in power, if she likes you at all. There _is_ quite a substantial age difference."

"How much of a difference?" Eragon frowned.

"Oh, about a hundred years or so," Brom said casually.

Eragon bristled with alarm. "But she looks so young! I would have thought she was no older than eighteen or nineteen if I didn't know she was an elf!"

"And that's precisely the problem," Brom replied patiently. "She's an elf. Elves are like Riders in that they live for… well, many have died in combat but some may say they're immortal. The difference will be less accentuated when you're a few decades older, but for now she may think of you as a child. Don't take it personally if she does. Elves still in their teens are barely human toddlers in stature."

Harry overruled Eragon's next question, letting his voice drop a few decibels in worry. "Did you say 'immortal'?" he inquired quietly.

Brom gave him a look of understanding and nodded. "I'm sorry, Harry. We haven't had a real chance to discuss this yet and I didn't want to bring it up while we're on the run. I would have waited until we reached the Varden."

"But I've finally come to realise the truth, and it's downright disturbing, so maybe we should just discuss it now," Harry said tentatively.

Brom sighed and, as per usual, brought out his pipe. "It's always difficult for new Riders to adapt to this situation," he said, voice slightly muffled as he held the pipe between his teeth and attempted to light it. "One of the reasons they bond so strongly with their dragons is that both will outlive most people by centuries. If two Riders ever fell in love and started a family together it was considered a joyous occasion, and the Rider Order tended to bless the couple for their good fortune.

"But for the most part Riders may not find anyone to be with. Many found the idea of marrying new men or women over and over again depraving, especially if they had children with one or more of their partners. The first ever Riders foresaw this problem, and worked the idea of an irrevocable bond into the magic of the Gёdway Ignasia. Dragons and Riders have each other forever because they may never find love among their own race. That's usually why one may die of grief if the other passes."

"That's interesting, but it doesn't really help me," Harry admitted quietly. "Knowing your friends will die and you'll live on… don't get me wrong: I'm delighted that Aru chose me. I'm honoured, in fact. But living forever, watching the world burn around you… it seems like too much."

"Ah, but that's why the Riders are there," Brom motioned confidently. "Eternity is a long time, and you may find yourself undertaking hundreds of new hobbies if you survive. But the work of a Rider is never complete to begin with. We don't let the world burn… we extinguish the fires."

Throughout the day Harry tried not to let the memory of what he had seen affect him, but it was a difficult thing to accomplish. Seeing Ginny and Hermione crying particularly tore at him, but there were also other things to be considered. He was a billionaire! That shocked him to no end, but he tried to ignore it as much as possible. He would never get to see that money, so he severely hoped that Arthur used every knut in his plans. It was far too much when some families like the Weasleys were inherently less well-off. Then: why had Kingsley wanted information on Durmstrang? That was unusual. And why had Hermione been so pissed off at Ron? He thought they would be together, but apparently something had happened. Neville certainly seemed like a different person, but that genuinely didn't surprise him. He himself now understood war, and how killing may be necessary, after all.

This day was the fourth since Aru had come into the world, and as Harry had earlier guessed, it was then they first saw the incredible, towering Beors. They had been riding for much of the afternoon, when he suddenly began to notice how irregular the horizon appeared. From his perception a vast horizontal expanse in the distance appeared to be as white as cloud, yet it was a clear afternoon with no precipitation in sight. Suddenly, a chill arched its way down Harry's back, and he forced himself to look upwards.

What he saw caused his eyes to become as wide as saucers, even though only one still functioned. His mouth dropped open, and he let out a few ragged breaths. What he was witnessing was no irregular colouring in the sky's almost indigo hue, but a continuous row of vast mountains so large they dwarfed the gigantic, encompassing forest that stretched along their bases. Harry almost couldn't believe what he was seeing. It wasn't precipitation, it was snow near the top of their peaks! Any one of these mountains could have put Everest to shame, yet there were dozens of the blasted things!

He suddenly recalled the map he had studied briefly the previous night, and remembered how the mountain range itself was cut off partway through. Now, a part of him realised that was most likely because the range continued so far it was impossible to map accurately. In other words, there must have been hundreds of these monstrous peaks hidden behind those which were visible.

He felt like a little child in size, and immediately shared the realisation with Aru. The young dragon raised its head from the saddle in front of him and looked at the points he indicated, letting out an intimidated growl or squeak when it made heads or tails of what he was seeing. Apparently Harry wasn't the only person to notice the enormous hills.

"Gods above!" Eragon exclaimed, letting out a long breath. "Those things are huge! They must be at least two or three times higher than the largest peak in the Spine!"

"_I feel like a hatchling again," _Saphira admitted to him privately. _"This would be a truly wondrous place to fly together." _Eragon definitely shared her enthusiasm.

"Try five times bigger," Harry whispered, unable to turn his gaze away. He had watched a nature programme years ago which stated bigger predators tended to live where there was more protection from being discovered. The biggest sharks tended to inhabit the deepest vestiges of the Pacific Ocean, for example. If that rule was universal…

"This could be dangerous," he intoned.

"It _is_ dangerous," Nyos announced, as the five of them sat on the horses in a mismatched line, transfixed by the incredible sight before them. "My father told me stories about these mountains. Some of the creatures here are so large they could even threaten Saphira."

"How does something even manage to form such a height?" Murtagh asked, mesmerised.

"Plates under the ground," Harry replied, still not looking away. His mouth felt dry from the lack of moisture, so long had it been slightly open. He licked his lips to prevent them from cracking in the heat. "I don't know much about them, but they collide and somehow force the earth upwards."

"Plates?" Murtagh asked, raising an eyebrow. "Surely not-"

"Obviously not cutlery," Harry rolled his eyes. "It's a scientific term in my homeland."

Brom was smiling. "In any case, we've almost reached our destination. Gentlemen, I give you the home of the Varden. Let's get another few leagues in before nightfall."

Harry followed his lead by gently prodding Godric forwards. The horses would need a rest eventually, and they would soon get a lengthy one. As he continued to wonder how anybody could properly survive in such a dangerous habitat, the mountains continued to impose themselves upon the company. The desert had been left behind, but it looked as though things may be just as dangerous in this new, uncharted wilderness.

* * *

**A:N - If you had planned to review, please drop a line or two telling me what you thought of the opening scene. It was interesting to write, so I hope it was equally interesting to read. It's not random; I think we all knew Harry would eventually use the 'draumr kopa' spell to check on the Wizarding World. It also acts as the first indication towards the story's sequel, more of which will be revealed later. **

**Arucane is not a word/name I invented. It's an actual word in the Ancient Language, meaning 'endless fire', and I thought it incredibly fitting. Hope you all agree. **


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen – The Shimmering Crystals**

* * *

He watched with a mixture of silence, horror and downright annoyance. 'Annoyance' may have been a tad disdainful, but that was an even more accurate description at this point in time. To have come so far, only to be held at knifepoint by a mob of distrustful men and dwarves alike. Harry shot a nasty look towards the bald-headed imbecile keeping the elf from her medicine. He declined to notice, or at least to care.

Brom had shouted the correct password, but apparently that no longer mattered. With an upheaval in security following the warning Brom had sent with Jeod's messenger, it was claimed every man, woman and child now had to be searched upon arrival.

Both physically and mentally.

"This is merely procedural," the bald man smirked, observing their discontent. "This is our home, after all, and we do not know or trust you. And only now am I being relayed a message that a band of Urgals are scampering towards the entrance, so you can understand if we are a mite cautious."

"I have no problem with caution," Brom replied angrily, "but I do insist upon Arya receiving immediate medical care. Or, would you prefer if her death was seen as happening in your care? Why, I think Islanzadi herself may deign to behead you for such a grievous error in judgment."

The bald man paled slightly at his words, but recovered quickly.

"Listen to me, and listen well, old man: your words mean nothing anymore. You are not the leader of the Varden any longer, and I will have Orik here take your tongue if I feel you are threatening me."

"By the gods, you will not!" the dwarf known as Orik exclaimed, clattering the butt of his axe on the stone below and shooting him a furious glare. "This man saved our forefathers on the direst of occasions, and now he delivers us Arya, the Elven princess believed dead! Have you truly no wit, Egraz Carn?"

"How dare you speak to me like that!" the bald man snapped, glaring daggers at his short companion.

Harry's patience was growing thin.

"Will you please take Arya to receive care and settle this like men afterwards?" Brom asked, although it was made to sound like an order.

"What did I tell you a minute ago?" the bald one asked rhetorically, shifting his gaze back once again.

_That's it. _

Harry reached for the wand he had stowed up his sleeve, but was beaten to the task by Saphira, who emitted a deafening roar and snapped her jaws at the obtuse little cretin threateningly. He took a step backwards, face flushed and embarrassment evident. Nobody else moved, all eyes glued to the majesty of those sapphire scales.

"Take Arya and have her healed," Brom barked at a pair of guards, who hastened to follow his instructions. "She requires Tuvinar's Nectar. Remember that if you want to keep your innards inside."

The guards hastily unstrapped the Elven princess, closely watched via the narrowed eyes of Saphira, which they tried to avoid as much as possible. A difficult task, as she followed every twitch with hawk-like precision. Brom waited until they had gently lowered her onto a makeshift stretcher and carried it through a side tunnel before speaking once again.

"Now, take us to see Ajihad."

"Now, listen here!" the bald man exclaimed angrily. "I don't care _who_ you are, old man! No one gains access without being tested beforehand! That goes for you, and your little _friends_ as well!"

"Who's going to test us?" Brom asked in a low, menacing voice. "You? Never this side of hell."

"I will," declared an impressive, echoing voice. The contingent of dwarves and Varden soldiers turned to where the voice had came from, whilst the bald basta- err, _man_, gritted his teeth in annoyance. Harry was caught off-guard by his behaviour. Surely, even with a traitor in the midst, the Varden would have been more hospitable towards Brom, of all people, an Elven princess, two people who could give unprecedented detail about the king's movements, and two new Riders?

"_It's mind-boggling, truth be told," _he said to Aru.

"I _want to burn that man's hair off_," came the reply.

"_He doesn't have any," _Harry blinked.

"_I meant... eyes... I think." _

"_Don't worry, you'll get there... eventually," _Harry teased.

The group watched as Angela, the witch from Teirm, finally showed herself. She seemed to almost glide across the stony floor towards them, the waterfall still pounding in their ears. The guards seemed a little unnerved by her presence, but Eragon could only smile. She may be a woman of great mystique, but she had still helped them to escape Teirm, Solembum in particular.

"It's good to see you again," he said with earnestness, giving a slight bow.

"And you," Angela said cheerfully, nodding towards him.

"Shouldn't someone be ambushing those Urgals outside?" Murtagh asked brusquely with confusion. He didn't comprehend small talk if there was work to be done. It was nothing if inefficient.

"Archers are picking them off as we speak," Orik grunted, leaning heavily on his fearsome-looking axe. "Have no fear, boy. We're safe here... well, safe _enough_..." he muttered darkly.

"If that is directed towards me-"

"It _is_ directed towards you, you self-conscious little pissant," Nyos said with irritation. "Now kindly shut up and let the lady do her work."

Angela headed off the hairless aggressor before he could retort by lifting a finger for silence. It came immediately, and he furiously skulked into the shadows, appearing as nothing but a silhouette.

"Brom, as you must be aware, it is required that you are searched before gaining entry to Tronjheim," she began.

"Of course I'm aware," Brom said with indignation. "I invented the bloody rule..."

"Yes, quite. Anyway, whilst I can understand your reluctance to give away knowledge to a potential free spirit, the Varden and Dwarves do not. According to them, you must not be found withholding any details of your trek to this mountain, or they will consider you a spy."

"And how did you flout this necessity?" Brom asked with sarcasm.

"Oh, they wouldn't dare force their way into _my_ mind. Would it could be the same for you, but I'm not the one who has been believed dead for sixteen years. No one quite knows _what_ to make of that little escapade," Angela smiled.

"Maybe they will, in time," Brom said, shifting uncomfortably.

"I'm afraid I must know," Angela said, adapting a grave visage. "I swear not to pass along the knowledge to any but Ajihad and Hrothgar without your permission. I'm a lady of my word."

"Does that count for us all?" Harry asked apprehensively.

"If you wish it, then yes."

"I think we all do," Eragon admitted. His statement was greeted by identical nods all around. Nobody wanted their deepest secrets to be spilled like common ink. It was an invasion of privacy, and a stringent possibility for blackmail. Harry would never allow himself to be manipulated again, not after Dumbledore and his feckless guidelines. Eragon knew enough from his friend's stories to be on an identical wavelength.

"Very well. Who shall go first?"

"I will," Brom declared at once. "Also, I believe now is the time to mention Nyos does not want to stay for long. He has family in Surda, and wishes to join them as soon as possible."

Angela hesitated, a strange action on her part. "I shall speak with Ajihad about granting you some provisions if your pass your inspection, unless you would prefer to leave now, of course?"

Nyos shook his head. "No, I can wait a little longer. I have information that the Varden can use."

There were no more words spoken after that brief exchange for quite a while. Angela inspected each of their memories in turn. She was dumbfounded by some of what she found in Brom's mind, and shocked to no end when she discovered Eragon was his son, and that Murtagh was Eragon's half-brother. Brom relayed his thoughts to her, pleading for her to keep those facts secret entirely, and she rapidly complied. Causing strife amongst the two of them could end in disaster if they were becoming closely acquainted; internal and political division were problematic, to say the least.

Eragon was worried, but Angela ensured she was as gentle as possible, never delving too deeply into his mind; only as far as was needed. Eragon found her mind incredibly unusual when compared to that of everybody else he had felt thus far – it seemed _endless_, in a peculiar fashion, as though the knowledge contained therein was timeless in itself. He couldn't place the irregularities. He only knew they existed.

Murtagh inadvertently begged to be trusted, as he hated his own father, and she subconsciously nodded in understanding. Helping Harry steal a dragon egg would earn him love and praise from everybody united against Galbatorix. He may not believe it, but he would... eventually. Not to mention he had run away from the king, choosing to reject his evil ways and cruelty. That was only a good sign. Moreover, no person could choose their parentage, so judgement on that count was in no way just. She knew that full well.

Nyos showed his willingness to help, having announced himself to her as a turncoat. He only wanted to be with his wife and son, so she promised to help as much as possible. Once he delivered the information he would be guided to Surda, where he could make his own way, a free man. That idea made him smile. It worried her, although she would not tell him why.

Then, there was Harry.

"_I've read your future, and now I must read you past," _she laughed.

"_My past is even more confusing," _Harry grinned. _"The Varden will want to know everything about me, won't they?" _

"_I'm afraid so. Where you come from, how you got here, and what you plan to do. I must applaud you on keeping the guards away from your wand, even if it wasn't entirely wise to conceal such a dangerous weapon from your would-be allies. Now, are you ready?" _

"_No."_

"_Good enough for me." _

Harry felt his mind tingle in the most peculiar fashion as it absorbed Angela's presence. It felt as though he were consistently being pricked by a thousand needles, but in a painless manner. She spent much time sifting through his earliest memories, including time at Hogwarts, fighting against Voldemort, and everything related to the Wizarding World. She seemed to drag a fine comb across the scalp of his mind itself, and yet it never bothered him in any physical manifestation.

"_What is this?" _she asked with interest. _"An invincible wand?" _

"_Something I rejected, and always shall," _Harry replied.

"_I am glad to hear it. This wand is more of a curse than anything." _

She questioned him for what felt like hours on the numerous workings of Muggle society, including cars and trains. It was rather like explaining things to Arthur Weasley, although she actually had the ability to successfully absorb the information. Her mind was like a sponge – insatiable when it came to knowledge and information. She never once faltered, but powered ahead with great determination and care. He soon lost track of the conversations.

"_I don't want to stain your opinion of him, but this 'wise' Albus Dumbledore seems like a completely nonsensical fool." _

"_I see now why you were so upset when learning you could never return home. She is a lovely girl."_

"_My deepest sympathies for losing your godfather, and so many friends..."_

"_It seems this 'Lord Voldemort' was as stupid as he looks, if he left his most important plans up to his merry band of incompetent folk. He could have stormed the Ministry, killed the six of you without blinking, and retrieved the prophecy without ever being seen."_

And on it went.

At long last, after what must have been an hour, Angela pulled away. She looked rather flustered.

"Phew! I can see what you mean about having a confusing past. Why, I barely even scratched the surface!" she exclaimed breathlessly.

Harry took a deep breath, feeling just as exhausted as she looked. He nodded. _"I hope you got what you need, Angela. Understand I wouldn't let anyone into my mind on a whim, but I trust you for some reason." _

"_For some reason?" _she asked amusedly, switching to non-verbal speech.

"_Maybe it's your noble air and uncanny ability to retain a sense of humour." _

She laughed at that.

"Have you finished?" the bald man snapped. He stood there, arms folded and brow creased, looking very impatient indeed. Even Brom and the others appeared worn out, except that was inevitably due to the strains of travelling to some extent.

"Indeed we have, o bald one," Angela said with contempt. "They are not your enemies, and have proven themselves most impeccably through the stealing of both dragon eggs, not to mention killing a Ra'zac and levelling Urû'baen itself."

The pin-drop silence that followed those words was equated only by the astounded expressions each and every man, woman and dwarf in the room bore at that exact moment.

"They _what?!" _the bald man spluttered.

"You heard me. The capital has been completely destroyed, and they hold the third egg as we speak," Angela said with a casual determination. "If anything, I would say these men are more trustworthy than any in the entire kingdom, including Ajihad himself. They have dealt devastating blows to the Empire in recent weeks, and seek nothing but peace and justice for the people! Let it be known."

Orik was grinning broadly, and soon began to laugh. His action caused a ripple effect, which led to men and dwarves alike joining in, before the entire room was soon enveloped in a chorus of cheers and veracious laughter. This laughter washed away all doubts, enveloped all overlapping concerns for at least the present time.

_A family, celebrating. That's what this is._

A family you are most welcome to, they seemed to say.

* * *

There would come a day in his life, when Harry would stop being utterly surprised by the sheer power and grandiose semblance that was magic. A day when he would accept its many perils and irregularities as the norm, when every vestige of doubt crumbles into oblivion, and the barriers of disbelief surrounding his mind collapse into the sea of time, never to be seen again.

Alas, that day was not this one, and he stood tall atop Godric, wide-eyed and bloody astounded at what he saw.

The dwarves had proved themselves master craftsmen on many occasions, it was known, but perhaps this was their uttermost achievement: a city hiding in the belly of an extinct volcano, surrounded by sheer rock at least twelve miles in height, and crowned by a single crater, so narrow from the distance that all in sight was basked in a fiery, sunset glow, bereft of true sunlight, yet reflected with an unidentified magical quality. One which could not be placed by casual eyes, but which stood firm in plain sight, imposing a distinction upon the weary that entered the colossal twin doors: this city was alive through ingenuity, and by secrecy it would remain shrouded in folklore, so well was it hidden.

Gigantic icicles adorned the crater's rim, which confirmed Harry's suspicion that the outside must be masked by swirling clouds, and lifted so high above the world that not even Saphira could fly there. It was as close to orbit as he had ever seen, and yet it was internal, not to mention the norm for the folk that stood before him, who were watching the column's advancement through the streets.

"Don't stare," Brom said, nudging him sharply. "People will think you barmy if you remain unfocused for so long."

"How can you not stare...?" Harry whispered, eyes gliding upwards once again. _"Aru, we're specks of dust against the eternal backdrop of our universe. We inhabit a tiny portion of what is known, and yet now I feel older than ever I have before. This is... amazing." _

"Are _those_," Eragon pointed upwards from Saphira, "warded by magic?"

"Yes," Angela said. "We couldn't accept the risk of any falling. The devastation would be horrific."

Without thinking, Harry removed his right glove and levelled his hand. Never blinking, he gently blew on the surface. All eyes turned as specks of dust above his palm began to glow a hugely bright green, before rocketing towards the icy crystals above. Even he, the perpetrator, was transfixed as they began to shimmer the hue of emeralds. Not breaking pace, all were soon enveloped by the wondrous change, and accompanied a purely musical note, which played out so loud and clear it brought tears to the eyes and goose-bumps to the skin.

Harry shuddered.

"_What, in all the circles of hell, have I done now?" _

"_I... do not know," _Aru whispered, transfixed by what appeared to be luminous stars of emerald hue within the very mountain itself.

Clap.

Clap, clap, clap...

A thunderous round of applause, and deafening cheers and chants from the assembled Varden warriors and civilians alike. The result of an action no one had ever seen before, and certainly it was one they would never see again. The crowd all wanted a piece of them now. Men, women and children all started raising their arms and shouting for attention, joyfully proclaiming the arrival of their saviours, yet also begging for help with innumerable matters.

"An Elegy for the Nightborn," Harry whispered, thinking of the Sun's absence.

At a funereal pace, the bald man led them through the street. Harry was certain that if this were a film or dramatic work, there would be melancholic music playing as his eyes crept from face to face, their sound switched off. Something emotional, referencing the springing of hope, yet displaying the turmoil these people lived through day-by-day. Dwarves and humans, rejoicing and lamenting as one entity, one being.

"_What's happening to me?" _Harry wondered mutely. _"I feel... almost... poetic." _

"_It is the magic of dragons," _Saphira replied. _"Know not what has happened, but embrace it, little one. You feel different, perhaps because you _are_ different. Different in an instant." _

Seemingly hours later, they reached a massive cedar door, one bathed in black grime from ages past. It was thrust open. The group entered a lavish, two-story study furnished with cedar bookshelves, chairs and tabletops. A man who could only be Ajihad stood there, eying them intently. He was coloured a rich ebony, which appeared to briefly surprise Eragon a little. Never coming so far east, he was unaccustomed to such a stark contrast in ethnicity.

Ajihad appeared a powerful sort, with broad shoulders and bulging arm muscles. His head had been shaved bare, yet it was replaced by the trimmed beard that he bore. His claret vest was accentuated by a fine golden thread, and he stared out at them with intelligent, piercing eyes. When he spoke, his voice was deep and carrying, yet gentle by nature.

"Welcome to Tronjheim, esteemed guests. I am Ajihad."

He held out a hand for them to shake. Brom eyed it for a moment, before grinning wildly and embracing him tightly. Ajihad chuckled at the reception.

"It is good to see you again, old friend. I had feared you dead."

"And you," Brom nodded cheerfully. "So, how badly have you been taking care of my Varden?"

* * *

The group that had been assembled sat at two tables which had been pulled together, and spent many long hours swapping important tales of days gone by. Ajihad paid particular attention to Harry's, and questioned him thoroughly on his application of magic. Harry politely answered. It was best he get used to such interrogations, friendly as they may be... sometimes. To Saphira's relief, they were all thoroughly fed and watered, though she chose to loom in the background, and not approach the table. Harry shuddered at how that catastrophic scene would have played out. Aru remained next to him.

Ajihad wiped his brow and leaned back. The heat truly was stifling. "I must say, you are quite the band of merry folk. Your adventures merit songs and stories fit for the ages, but I'm afraid this is not the time for such trivia. No, this is a crisis, and we – the Varden – are asking for your help. Angela has permitted you all entry. I trust her judgement with my life itself. Will you accept our plea for aid?"

Brom rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Hmm, I daresay we will, but there are certain conditions we require to be seen to beforehand."

Harry made no movement. They had spoken of this before Brom had shouted the password. He had told them what to say, when to say it, and when not to speak at all. That third one was of particular importance.

"Oh?" Ajihad appeared interested. "Do tell."

Brom nodded. "Very well. We require absolute secrecy pertaining to the third egg for the time being. Whilst Eragon is capable of riding Saphira and she can defend herself, caring for one youngling will be tough enough at this stage. Harry rode in here with Aru on his shoulder as an act of both fortitude and trust, but we cannot rule out the possibility of espionage from the Empire. We need your word that the egg will be protected. We cannot protect both at once."

"Of course," Ajihad said. "You need not even ask. I understand how important this is."

"Thank you, my friend. Secondly, I need your word as a man of honour that you will help me to shield Eragon and Harry. Whilst I know you cannot promise them absolute protection because of Hrothgar's influence, you must help me guard them from _outside _influences wherever possible. We both know how dangerous it is to play this game of politics."

Ajihad hesitated this time. "I give you that word, Brom. But it is impossible to protect them forever, as you are clearly aware."

"We make do with what we have."

"That is true enough. We've survived on very little for almost two decades. It is not your fault, as it would have happened anyway, but it is the truth. We are nothing in terms of numbers when compared with Galbatorix."

"Wrong," Harry interjected. "We're two to one now, in the most important way. And soon it'll be three."

Brom smiled. "This one will make you want to gut him before long, but he speaks with sense."

"I see," Ajihad said, raising an eyebrow. "At the very least you have the determination we strive for."

His eyes shifted over the group.

"And you, son of Morzan."

Murtagh shifted uncomfortably, though his flat gaze did not wither.

"Brom trusts you, and Angela trusts you. Therefore, I also trust you. The people here will be hesitant at first, but they will grow to love you as one of our own if you so wish it. Prove yourself, and your father will be forgotten."

"He's not my father. I hereby relinquish all terms of paternal endearment towards him, and remove all traces of heritage from him," Murtagh said confidently.

Ajihad blinked in surprise. "Such an action would make you a bastard."

"Then bastard I am, and bastard proud. Better to be such than to be the spawn of that monster."

"I admire your determination and your choice, Murtagh, son of none."

Harry hadn't been expecting that to happen. Evidently Murtagh wanted to be accepted, no matter the price. And yet, it was nary a price he cared about paying. He wanted freedom, and here he would find it.

"And what is your wish, turncoat?" Ajihad asked Nyos.

"I merely wish to leave, as soon as my task is completed."

"You know that if I let you leave, I must wipe clean your memories of our home?"

Nyos nodded. "I had guessed that, and I accept it readily."

Harry glanced at the two bald twins. The second had appeared only a few minutes ago, and now both stood together, whispering furiously. They were more identical than the Weasley twins had been, almost impossible to tell apart. Finally, one of them cleared his throat.

"Yes?" Ajihad inquired.

"I am afraid, my lord, it is not quite as simple as that. This man has travelled with these companions for quite a while now, and therefore bears knowledge of helping them flee Urû'baen with the dragon eggs. If a segment of his memory were to disappear, he would begin to question himself as to why his friends had simply vanished into thin air. For that reason, we must delete his memory up to, and including, the sacking of the capital."

Eragon spluttered incredulously. "You can't do that! Nyos is as trustworthy as any among us! He would sooner die than choose to betray our secrets!"

"It is not a question of _choice_," the other twin said flatly. "If the king were to discover who had betrayed him, and discover his whereabouts, he would apprehend him, and break into his mind accordingly. It does not matter how strong you are – none can resist Galbatorix."

Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion at that choice of words.

"Brom, you can't let them do this," Eragon said flatly. "Without Nyos we would never have gotten this far, and we all know it."

Nyos rested a hand on Eragon's shoulder in a comforting manner. The younger man looked around, attempting to see through the sad, distant eyes that he wore.

"Eragon, don't worry about me. I'm a soldier, used to following orders. I understand the importance of helping this city remain secret, and won't regret the choice if it allows me to be with my family once more. If I can join them in Surda, I will-"

"Surda?" Ajihad interrupted, sitting forward suddenly. The sombre mood dropped.

"Yes, Surda. What of it?" Nyos questioned, eyebrows narrowed.

Ajihad exchanged a glance with the twins, then looked back and sighed. "There is no point in keeping the information from you. We have received word via our magicians in King Orrin's court that Galbatorix has launched a full scale assault against the entire country. He's sweeping through the countryside, torching towns and villages, before preparing to attack the cities directly. The last word we had was an hour ago. Cithrí has been destroyed."

The silence. The silence of five heartbeats stopping simultaneously.

Followed by an eruption of shouting, questions and demands as everyone jumped to their feet and began to throw around accusatory arms and words.

"Why the hell weren't we told about this?" Harry roared.

"You need to march immediately!" Nyos shouted.

"This is bloody ridiculous. You're sitting here doing nothing!" Murtagh yelled.

There was an erupting _bang! _Everyone turned to look at Brom, the culprit. He stood there, glaring at them all furiously.

"Listen here, you lot, and listen _well_. Our task is to ensure the survival of the people. The people _everywhere! _Including _this_ mountain! We can't march against the royal army with a spattering band of fatigued warriors! We'll be batted aside in an instant! The reason Ajihad chose not to tell you this was for your own damned safety, got it?! Look at how you're all acting now. If he had mentioned it as soon as we had arrived, you would have been out the door again in a heartbeat, raring to go."

"And for good bloody reason!" Nyos growled. "My family is in Reavstone, _if_ they're lucky enough to have gotten my message! Otherwise they're in the _centre_ of Aberon!"

"Your family has been evacuated," Ajihad said calmly. "All civilians were led from their homes as soon as the news arrived. Ships are waiting to take all up the coast to Narda, where they'll be safest. It bears more neutral than anything these days."

"They have to get by Teirm first," Harry said immediately. "What if there are ships waiting in ambush?"

"A spy of ours in Teirm was able to torch their docks. Their naval capacity has been effectively neutralised. Feinster is behind on its military pay-grade, and Kuasta is nothing but a fishing town. Brom, you can testify to that."

"I can," Brom nodded. "Nyos, I am sorry. I didn't know of this either, but I do know why Ajihad neglected to mention the facts."

Nyos sat, stony-faced. Harry couldn't blame him. _More_ secrets. He felt ready to punch someone.

"A spy in Teirm?" Eragon asked curiously. "That would be Jeod, correct?"

"Jeod is dead," Ajihad said quietly.

Harry sighed in pain, and Eragon gasped in shock. Brom hung his head, looking forlorn. Ajihad clasped him firmly on the shoulder.

"He was a good man. One we can all be proud of. With his last breath he flung a torch onto the docks, and the ships were all caught in the blaze. He had doused them with lantern oil beforehand. Which reminds me," Ajihad said, fumbling in his pocket. He brought out a glistening ring. "This is yours."

Brom took it, but did not speak for a little while. He gazed at it morosely, before clenching it tight in a fist with whitening knuckles.

"Damn you, Galbatorix!" he hissed furiously. "You'll pay for what you've done."

"He shall..." Ajihad said lowly.

In fury, Nyos rose to his feet and kicked his chair away. He stormed in the direction of the door.

"Where are you going?" Harry queried.

He paused briefly. "To scry my family and try talking with them... if they're still alive." He gave Ajihad a hate-filled glare before slamming the door behind him.

"I fear I have lost with Nyos already," Ajihad sighed, crossing his arms.

"He'll come around," Harry said uncertainly.

"_If... his family... lives."_

"_Agreed. If they're dead, there's no telling what he might do. This could be a problem, Aru. But we have bigger matters to worry about for now. Saphira, what do you make of all this?"_

"_I... cannot say, Harry. If the oath-breaker king is with his men, even I could not hope to fight and win. Tooth and claw would be no match for his unholy power."_

"_We should ask about this," _Eragon interjected. _"It's too important to ignore. We have to do something, weak as we may be."_

The quartet agreed unanimously.

"Brom?" Harry asked aloud.

"Yes?"

"What are our options?"

Brom frowned. "Do you want to leave?"

"No. No, this place is hope. The only hope we have left. I mean, what are our options regarding this invasion?"

"I'm afraid... they're limited, to say the least," Brom replied wearily, exchanging a glance with Ajihad. "The two of you have training to complete, and that will take more time than we have. Starting immediately is our goal. We cannot march on the king unless we desire certain death or capture."

"If we don't, he'll come for us eventually," Murtagh pointed out. "Losing the capital must have infuriated him. He won't suffer us to live any longer, except for these two," he added, motioning towards Eragon and Harry.

"The king may be almost invulnerable, but his men are not," Ajihad replied confidently. "If they attempt to storm Tronjheim, they will succeed. However, they are occupied with Surda currently, and that is no lean march from here. Galbatorix knows this. If he musters his entire force, many will die of dehydration due to the desert's heat _before_ they arrive. Full armour is a burden to carry. And they would be severely weakened. We could cause severe damage before they overrun our defences."

"The king doesn't care about that any longer," Eragon stated. "I'd wager a month's worth of food he doesn't give a damn if every man under his command dies, so long as he controls the dragons and the egg. He'll sacrifice them on a whim to achieve his end. Besides, if he wins in the long-term, losing every single one of his men won't bother him in the slightest."

"Urû'baen was an example," Ajihad said, slightly diverting the course. "I had kept knowledge of its sacking from the people as it would inspire foolhardy actions. I cannot have people demanding we march when I _know_ we cannot. We need the elves. Without their support, we're as good as dead already."

"So why don't we have it?" Harry asked with confusion. "Surely they know we're all in this together."

"Arya," Brom said simply.

"Precisely," Ajihad sighed. "They are a proud race, and believe our lax security led to her supposed death. I cannot tell you how fortuitous it is that you have returned her to us. With any luck they will now return to being helpful."

"But you can't contact them from here?" Eragon asked.

"No. Their wards prevent it. We must escort her there directly when she regains her health."

"How is she?" Murtagh asked.

"Still asleep, although the doctors have administered the antidote for her condition. It will be some time before she wakes, so do not worry too much. I shall let you know when she stirs."

"Back to business," Harry said, causing Brom to give a small smile. "Have you placed scouts in Surda?"

"Of course we have," Ajihad replied somewhat stiffly, raising an eyebrow. "They are our allies. Orrin knows we cannot send men to help, and it would do no good even if we could, but we are helping with the evacuations and in keeping an eye on the situation."

"What use is there in that?" Murtagh scoffed. "Watching will accomplish nothing if you don't act."

Ajihad's face hardened. He was not a man to be trifled with, and although he appreciated suggestions from those around him, he disliked impunity. He may have openly stated his trust for Murtagh, but that didn't mean the young man could get away with anything he so desired.

"Murtagh, the king's order of enforced conscription will have gone through by now," Brom explained carefully. "And if he is directly leading that army, then there is nothing we can do to help. Orrin accepts that, and so must we."

"And if it gets worse..." Eragon said lowly.

"What do you mean?" Ajihad asked sharply.

"I'll tell you about that later, in private," Brom intervened. Ajihad was the only man he trusted with regards to the information Harry and Murtagh had discovered.

"Do all of you know about this?" Ajihad asked.

"Yes."

"Then there's no need to wait. You two," he said, looking at the twins, "get out."

Furiously, the two bald men skulked away. Brom cast wards around the room, ensuring they would not be caught out by eavesdropping. When that was done, he began a tactical relay of the land's defences. It was important that he emphasised the vulnerability of the Varden before delivering the sucker punch. He referred to the shortness of numbers they already bore, and how any outside force would be overwhelming in stature.

"Outside force? What are you talking about? There are no people outside of Alagaësia, so far as we are aware," Ajihad declared with slight confusion.

Harry and Murtagh exchanged a look.

"The king is more adapt than anybody else with regards to magic," Brom explained. "He has discovered things... and places..."

"Another land?" Ajihad spluttered, sitting upright immediately. "Tell me, damn it!"

"When we sacked Urû'baen we discovered a map in the king's quarters," Harry said. "It included land stretching far beyond the Beors and Du Weldenvarden, big enough to mirror or even eclipse the population of Alagaësia. It included a missive, regarding soldiers arriving as support for the king."

Ajihad was shocked, and promptly collapsed back into his seat. He sighed deeply, and suddenly looked centuries old. Harry knew it as the fatigue of one who is staring defeat in the face, but refusing to give up nonetheless.

"This is impossible," Ajihad said, shaking his head in disbelief. "How could another country exist without either of us discovering each other?"

"We... we've thought about that... and we've come to the conclusion it's the king's doing. We believe he is either allied with their leader, or holding them at bay by holding the power of the Riders over their heads," Brom declared.

"But the Riders are gone! Surely they wouldn't just take him at his word?"

"They don't have to, so long as he has Shruikan. He can easily frighten them away by unveiling that dark terror, and that's all the proof that they need. If he has an agreement with their leader not to cross into each others' borders, then it makes sense no one has ever heard of them before. And I'm sure the desert has stopped random wanderers from encountering one another. Has anyone ever crossed from one end to the other?"

Brom shook his head. "Not that I am aware, although we can assume the king has done so..."

Ajihad clasped his hands together irately. "How do I fight a threat I have never seen, and cannot even measure? Please explain that to me."

"Alas, I cannot," Brom said morosely, spreading his arms.

"I can think of a way," Harry said, raising a forefinger. "It won't be easy, but there really isn't any other choice. It's a spell known as the Fidelius Charm, which protects any location the caster chooses."

"Wards won't do any good!" Ajihad exclaimed impatiently. "The king will smash them down with a flick of his finger!"

"The Fidelius Charm is more powerful than anything you have ever seen," Harry said calmly. "It essentially cloaks the object of the spell from all who don't know the 'secret'. For example, let's say I use it on this room. Even though you know how to find it already, you would forget. I would have to give its location to a Secret Keeper, who would be the only person able to tell anyone where it is. I could also hold it myself if I wanted to."

"That's brilliant!" Ajihad exclaimed, grinning. "So even if the king knows how to find us, he would forget?"

"Exactly."

"Ingenious! Brom, I see what you mean about this young man having wisdom."

"Ah, it's nothing," Harry muttered sheepishly, waving a hand absent-mindedly.

"Subtle," Murtagh said, amused.

Brom was frowning, however.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Hmm... I'm not sure if this is such a good idea. If what you're saying is correct, no one would be able to locate the city again, correct?"

"Apart from those I choose to tell, yes. But don't worry – everyone in the city is excluded from the magic unless they leave. Nothing adverse will happen."

"But what of the traitor?"

"Only the Secret Keeper can divulge the location, so there would be nothing to fear."

"There's another problem," Brom continued. "Galbatorix has fallen for this trick once before. Elven cities are shielded from his vision. There is every possibility he has taken this into consideration and set in place safeguards to prevent it from happening again, both for himself and amongst his army."

Harry frowned. It was possible, of course. And if true, it was a royal pain in the ass. That spell could very well save their lives if employed correctly. Of course, he still had no idea how to cast it and would have to spend time figuring out the complexities of the magic, a fact he repeated aloud.

"Also, my magic may override those safeguards. We can't really know for sure."

"Maybe I should leave you to it, then," Ajihad declared, standing upright. "I shall have Orik show the three of you – or five of you, I should say – to your rooms. Your friend can be directed when he returns, and I need to speak with Brom."

Brom nodded, rolling his eyes at Harry's inquisitive look. "I promise we will discuss everything important amongst ourselves afterwards. No secrets."

"You're damned right about that," Harry said firmly, pointing a finger at him. "In fact, you may call that our third condition. If we're to stay here we want to be trusted enough to be let into the 'adult discussions'."

"You will be, after a time," Ajihad said, measuring Harry's mental physique silently. "I may trust you, but some of my compatriots will not warm to you so quickly. They are a suspicious kind, and I daresay you would all do well to remember that fact. Goodnight to you all."

* * *

"I believe we should reconsider our present situation," Brom said, blowing a plume of smoke across the room. The fire crackled nearby.

"I believe... you are correct," Ajihad said determinably. "Without Orrin we lose all supply routes. It's a major problem."

"How long can you hold out?"

"Here, in the mountains?"

Brom nodded, the firelight reflected in his eyes.

"Not for very long, at any rate," Ajihad sighed. "The dwarves will offer their full support, but Hrothgar will want to meet the Riders beforehand. Du Vrangr Gata will also attempt to influence them, and the twins..."

Brom raised his pipe threateningly. "I don't want those bald-headed bastards anywhere near any of them, got it? They're to stay as far away as possible at all times, or they'll have me to deal with."

"I guess it's a good thing they fear you," Ajihad grinned. "You've not changed at all, old man."

"Yes, I have," Brom murmured. "In more ways than you can imagine. I just... try not to show it as often as I might. But those two kids have had more of an influence on me than I ever would have expected."

"It won't be a problem, will it?" came the alarmed reply.

Brom hesitated. "No. No, I'm still the same. Mostly. But I won't ask you for command of the Varden. It's your burden now, and I have to continue teaching the two of them for as long as possible."

"Do you intend to give them any outright responsibility?"

"Of course I do! Harry can become a master tactician, and has experience with guerilla warfare. We should include them all in our war briefings. But... they need to learn in more ways than one. Leadership also. In fact... I have an idea," Brom smirked, eyes glinting. "Harry will hate it, but I think it's for the best."

* * *

"This place is incredible," Murtagh exclaimed. "It must be the work of magic."

The five of them currently occupied a huge cave resting on the dragonhold, at least sixty feet in diameter and possibly seventy or even eighty. It was elegantly carved through fine artisanship, each wall bearing the entrance to potentially dozens of other chambers, some as large as houses and others only several feet in length, merely alcoves. These walls were shaped from marble and inlaid with numerous rungs, allowing the occupants to reach even the tallest caves whenever desired. But perhaps the most impressive attribute was the floor itself; a massive, majestic sapphire, so colossal Harry knew it to be worth trillions upon trillions of Galleons. It threw the entire surrounding area into an omnipresent blue hue, and was the trademark of the dwarf who Orik told them had crafted it.

Isidar Mithrim, it was named, eclipsing all in grandeur and surpassed by none in beauty. It was truly breathtaking, and yet slightly disconcerting also. A mile below the floor lay the massive central chamber of Tronjheim, so none of them liked to think what would happen if the gem were to smash beneath their feet. Still, Orik had assured them no amount of weight would damage or destabilise the crystal, and Murtagh had still insisted upon staying with his friends. They had much to discuss together, and besides that he didn't trust the Varden yet, and no one could blame him. The room aside, he had been particularly vocal regarding their hospitality.

Somehow, without really thinking, Harry conjured a relatively comfortable sofa for the three of them to sit at. It caused him to blink in surprise. It looked much better than anything he had ever conjured before, and curved around into a makeshift 'U', so that all three could sit and occupy a different length.

"Impressive," Murtagh noted appreciatively.

"Thanks," Harry nodded. "I think we should probably all agree to be careful regarding strangers in the city. Eragon, if I hadn't realised your mistake just now, you would have cursed that child by accident."

Eragon scratched his head sheepishly. "I won't be doing anything like that again, I swear it. And if I ever do have to, I will refuse until I have the correct words memorised."

"Don't worry too much. If you had cast the spell we'd be in a lot of trouble, though."

"Then I thank you for stopping me."

Harry nodded slowly. Their conversation died down for a little while, and all three were occupied by the flames dancing in the fire they had created. It was warming, but not heart-warming. A chill that could not be repressed had slithered its way down Harry's spine, and the imprint could not be erased. He felt both worried and determined.

"It's... it's all gone to hell, hasn't it?" he whispered.

Murtagh gave a silent nod. "It... it seems like only yesterday I was being told by the king himself how great his vision for the land was, and now... now he'll destroy it all."

"There's no way we can stop him when we're this weak," Eragon added. "We need help. If Surda is destroyed all hope is lost. We have to stop him... somehow."

"We'll find a way," Harry promised. "Firstly I need to figure out how to tell four thousand human souls about the spell I intend to cast in case we ever need to leave, and I don't have any idea how the dwarves will react to the magic. If other races aren't affected it won't stop Urgals from marching in here and slaughtering everyone in sight."

"Is there any way to test the theory?" Murtagh asked, brow creased.

"There may be. I guess I could try to conceal a small room and see how Orik reacts to the charm, but I don't want to put him in any danger," Harry said thoughtfully, gazing at the sparkling floor.

"Well, we can always try that tomorrow. For now, I think we all need to rest," Eragon said, knowing full well none of them would sleep tonight.

Murtagh grinned and ignored the suggestion. "Well, it's a shame you can't split into multiple people or get help from any servants," he told Harry.

Harry chuckled, before stopping dead. His eyes widened in pure shock, self-loathing and recognition of self-stupidity all in one, before he rose to his feet with the drum-roll of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. His face lost all colour, even when being fanned by the warming flames below him, and his hands began to visibly shake.

"H-Harry, what's wrong?" Murtagh asked, alarmed.

Harry couldn't even speak. He felt like slicing off a hand for his own idiocy. After all the bloody months he had spent lamenting his own misfortune, before finally coming to terms with his own permanent departure from the Wizarding World, he hadn't considered the most obvious possibility. His apparition was gone, courtesy of Durza. But that didn't mean...

He cleared his throat, before uttering, in a shaky breath:

"Kreacher?"


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**A:N - **A quick note regarding my name change. Don't panic - it's still me writing. I just decided to switch to my real first name and following initials. I think it looks better is all. I didn't notice until last week it was five years last month since I joined this site. I can hardly believe it. Five whole years. How better to celebrate than to keep writing? So, here you go!

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen – Arya and Trianna**

Harry sucked in his breath, willing his heart to cease fluttering but for a moment. His attempts were unsuccessful. This was an impossible notion. His heart would not be controlled, could not be denied. It swayed and bobbed with his emotions, his feelings, and now those belonged firmly in the realm of nervousness and pure anxiety. For the longest time, nothing seemed to happen.

And then...

Nothing still happened.

Harry let out his breath heavily, and rubbed his aching temples. He was so sure that would have worked! House elves weren't bound by the restrictions of ordinary magic, as both Kreacher and Dobby had proved before, so where the hell was he? It had now been at least thirty seconds since Harry had called him, and those thirty seconds formed half a minute longer than what was typically required when he had ever attempted to summon Kreacher previously.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Murtagh asked, worry etched across his face.

Harry sighed. "Nothing. I thought I could call for... someone from my world, but apparently I can't."

"I recognise that name," Eragon said vaguely. "Didn't you once mention a 'Kreacher' in your stories?"

"Yes. He was a house elf – no, nothing like the elves you know, so please don't get them confused – who helped me immensely when I needed him. House elves can apparate at will, and normal restrictions don't all apply to their kind. But clearly this one does."

"Hmm... why?"

"'Why' what, Murtagh?" Harry frowned.

"Why does this restriction apply to this... house elf? Surely your own abilities are only disabled because of Durza, so what gives?"

Harry thought long and hard about that. It was possible something was giving off a form of magical interference, something potent hidden in Alagaësia. Of course, the object in question would have to be steeped in unfathomable power, if its mere presence distorted the very laws of magic to the degree that even minor creatures were affected. Of course, that was idle guesswork and fraught with irregular distortions. The distance could simply be so great that Kreacher couldn't make the journey. Harry had much more energy than the elder house elf, and he had been unconscious for over a day after landing in The Spine. He voiced these potential ideas.

"Well, whatever the cause, he hasn't appeared, so that's that," Eragon shrugged.

"You're right, of course."

"Of course I am. Now, I want to sleep, so both of you keep it down a little."

"Grouchy," Murtagh smirked.

"Merely tired, my friend. I'll be right as rain come the morning time."

"Shine like the Sun," Harry quipped.

Eragon groaned. "I'm exhausted, so please stop. I can't cope."

"Oh, good one!"

"Shut up, Murtagh."

"Come over here and make me," he joked, again with alliteration.

Eragon paused, then nodded to himself and dived at Murtagh, spearing him off the back of the couch. Harry laughed as he watched the two of them struggling to gain an upper hand. It may have been friendly, but that didn't stop them from hitting each other.

"Ow, that was my shin!" Eragon exclaimed painfully.

"Was it? Sorry. I was aiming for your head."

"Ladies, maybe you should knock it off!" exclaimed a loud voice, and both men scrambled to their feet wearily as Brom appeared from nowhere, standing with a hand on his sword. Harry wasn't sure if he had removed it from his belt since entering Tronjheim.

"Sorry," Murtagh grinned, clearly not.

"Don't be," Brom said. "It's good that you can still play around. Just take it easy. I won't heal you if you accidentally dislocate a finger."

"Ooh, sounds painful," Harry whistled, before turning it into a half-hearted cough at Brom's glare.

"Is there any news from Surda?" Murtagh asked.

Brom was silent for a moment. He quietly took a seat, pausing to admire the quality of Harry's spell-casting, and was joined by his three young protégés. For an outsider the change in tone would have been outstanding to withhold; in but an instant all manner of childishness had vanished, and the battle-hardened expressions of four desolate and weary travellers took up its place. No one sat back, but leant forward on their seats.

"No," Brom said. "We've heard nothing since last night. However, Ajihad is currently embroiled in a meeting with King Hrothgar and other senior dwarves. He's attempting to bargain with them."

"Bargain for what?" Harry frowned.

"Their unanimous support."

"You mean it was being withheld?" Eragon asked with incredulity as Murtagh scoffed. "Don't they understand how serious this is?"

"Of course they do, but dwarven politics are unbearably horrific in their tedious nature, and the numerous clans are split over the most petty of issues. They fight amongst each other for profit-"

"Even if they should be fighting for their lives," Eragon interjected.

Brom nodded.

"What will be the difference?"

"Once they fully pledge themselves to the Varden, Ajihad will be given equal power over the clan leaders as the king," Brom said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "It would be a gracious boon, but will most likely not come to fruition before it is too late."

"Well, what the hell is the point?" Harry spluttered.

Brom hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. Harry noted his unconcerned demeanour, not to mention a beguiling countenance of casualness that befit the nature of one intoxicated.

"We... we have a plan," Brom said shortly.

"...okay. What is it?" Harry asked, motioning for him to continue.

Brom shook his head. "...some of us have long suspected certain dwarven clans despise other races. This prevents them from fully cooperating with the Varden, and lends credence to their mutual apathy with the elves, not to mention causing inter-racial rivalries. For this reason Ajihad and I have devised a solution, one which _must not leave this room. _Understand?" he asked sharply.

They nodded together.

"Good. We plan to integrate the clans into a singular entity, under direct control by the king and answerable to none but his authority. For this reason we have to essentially dissolve the notion of self-righteousness amongst dwarven kind, and that is wherein our problem lies. Dwarves are remarkably stubborn, and will most likely attempt to thwart this plan at every turn."

"Then why bother considering it?" Eragon asked, grimacing. Orik had clearly been proud of his clan, and if all dwarves were similarly poised then it could be problematic... at best.

"Because we have to show them they can work together, even if it is against us. If the plan succeeds... fair enough. We have their support through Hrothgar. If it does not, which is most likely... _hopefully_ they will still rally and band together for the cause after seeing they can fight together without killing one another, so we win either way."

"'Hopefully'?"

"There is every chance they will renounce the Varden for meddling," Brom said honestly. "But that's _very_ unlikely," he added, seeing three astounded faces staring back at him. "This is a calculated risk, and one that neither I nor Ajihad could alone attempt with any possibility of success either way. We help maintain advantages in ways the other does not."

"Surely this is unnecessary," Murtagh said, aghast. "When the dwarves see the threat posed by Galbatorix-"

"They will act, yes," Brom nodded. "However, that will only come about if they are attacked, and we'd rather that _didn't _happen, you know. The only other way would be if every other race joined against Galbatorix. They are honour-bound to serve the realm, or be cast into an eternal limbo of shame."

There was a typical silence for a few moments, one which Harry had grown accustomed to. It was not out of place for the four of them to sit there for a minute or two, absorbing the information they had just heard. When they did eventually speak again, it typically resulted in several conclusive insights, and possibly another course of action, if one could be seen. Four minds were certainly better than one or two, and usually it was as many as six.

Brom looked at them quietly. "Just expect a lot of tension for the foreseeable future, and possible open hostility from some people."

"What else can we expect?" Harry asked, his sarcasm acidic.

Brom winced. "I admit they are difficult people, but they have noble intentions."

"Yeah, I've seen what those do to people in the past," Harry said darkly. "Let them use their misguided sense of _nobility_ to tear each other apart. They're like spoiled children. I won't be getting involved."

"You'll have to get involved eventually," Brom warned. "There will come a time when they look to you and Eragon for advice, as well as the third Rider, and you must not refuse it, or they _will_ destroy themselves."

"I don't want to play their games," Harry said quietly, absent-mindedly conjuring a fire into the grate he had created the night before.

"I don't think I know enough about dwarves to be of any use," Eragon admitted. "So I'd be best staying back and watching for now, in case I make a fatal mistake. Once I'm more knowledgeable hopefully I can be of some use."

"I'll have to fix that," Brom said, frowning. "You three and Ajihad are the only ones here I trust, so I want you by my side... when you're ready."

"And Nyos?" Murtagh asked softly.

"He... I don't know where he is," Brom admitted with a sigh. "I haven't seen him since he stormed out yesterday evening. Have any of you...?"

"No."

"He'll come back, but I don't know what state he'll be in," Harry said calmly. "If he's despondent we can try to help him. But I hope his family are in good health. We need his help."

Brom was silent for a moment, then braced himself by shaking his head, as though to waken up fully. "Don't concern yourself with Nyos. He can take care of himself. You have more pressing matters at hand."

Harry looked up. "What pressing matters?"

Brom opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, before finally shrugging and ploughing ahead. "It's been decided you're going to take command of Du Vrangr Gata as soon as you've been tested."

Harry's eyes widened. "What! When was I going to be told about this?!"

"About ten seconds ago."

"Oh, brilliant. Thanks for that."

"Don't be worried," Brom chided. "It's a great honour. And the only reason we're selecting you is that you have experience with organising resistance groups. Correct?"

Harry gave a reluctant nod.

"Excellent. You'll be fine. Just... err... make sure you show confidence, but _don't _be cocky. Their current leader won't take this news well," the old man warned.

"I don't need a severely pissed-off magician after my blood. I have those in abundance as it is," Harry said flatly, both voice and eyes. "What's his name? You know, so I can make peace before he tries to gut me?"

"And don't be overly dramatic," Brom snapped. "_She_ is named Trianna. And as a matter of fact, she isn't actually in charge at the moment."

"I won't bother trying to work this one out. Just tell me."

"The Twins are in command, but Ajihad is reassigning them on my suggestion."

"To where?"

"Reinforcing the wards around the city and outlying areas. Needless to say, they weren't happy, but have no choice in the matter."

"I wouldn't trust them with such a task," Murtagh grunted. "They're very worrisome tricksters."

Harry snorted. "They're clearly dishonest gits. I wouldn't trust them if they told me the sky was blue."

"Precisely. I'm going to be there to keep an eye on them. I'll be inspecting their wards at the end of every session," Brom said. "If there are gaps..."

"Then we'll have figured out who the traitors are," Eragon concluded, nodding. "It's a good plan, although it could be a problem if they manage to conceal a breach in the wards."

"They won't. Arya and Angela will also be supervising at random times, as well as adding their own power to the fortifications."

"Arya? She's awake?" Suddenly, Eragon seemed to sit up much straighter, and Harry gave a small smile for the sake of his friend. He knew the power of love when he saw it.

"Yes," Brom nodded, "in fact, she's asked us to join her at the sparring field in half an hour. It's important for her as an elven ambassador to test the prowess of the Riders in both swordplay and magic-weaving. Both of you are obviously required to attend."

Brom stood up and stretched his legs. With a wave of his hand and a simple word he extinguished the fire Harry had lit. "Come. It'll take only a few minutes to get there, but I'll show you around the city a little if you'd like. I need to get reacquainted myself. It's been so long..."

"How did you get up here?" Harry suddenly demanded, realising where they were.

Brom smirked and tapped his nose ruefully.

"Fine, be like that. But when you need me to-"

Harry was interrupted by an explosive _BANG!_ Out of nowhere the air around him seemed to contract, and he was thrown off of his feet. Identical cries of surprise told him his companions had likewise been blown backwards alongside the entire ensemble of furniture and cutlery, and the growling of Saphira, who had just landed, alerted him to the disturbance in the centre of the room, where lay the smouldering wreck of the couch he had conjured.

"What the hell is _that?!_" Brom demanded, drawing his sword.

Harry jumped to his feet, eyes wide and disbelief palpable.

"Master Harry calls, and Kreacher comes. Kreacher is a good elf, yes," said the dishevelled Kreacher, before promptly collapsing.

* * *

Eragon, Brom and Murtagh approached the sparring field of the Varden with differing emotions. Brom was remarkably calm, as he tended to remain in most situations, whereas Eragon was suffering from trepidation and Murtagh anxiety over being seen by so many accusatory glares. No one had said a word to him, but he knew that was only thanks to Brom's presence. If the old warrior hadn't been accompanying him he was sure to have been accosted on at least one occasion by an angry mother, or a battle-hardened group of warriors seeking 'revenge'.

Eragon was quickly alerted to the din. He knew a full-scale battle would be huge in scope, and the noise created would be deafening to endure. It was best he get used to the clattering of swords and shields quickly, and even the clinking of an armoured warrior with every step he took. In certain sections near the end of the ground archers were firing arrows at dummies made from straw, or at wooden targets emblazoned with a large bull's-eye in the centre.

Several fighters stopped to watch the trio pass, but most resumed their sharpening of weapons with whetstones and determination to batter each other senseless after a few seconds. Dwarves may be small in stature, but Eragon was damned sure they looked more intimidating than many men with their formidable axes and fearsome beards, as strange as it may have sounded. It merely gave them a more frightening visage, in his opinion.

"I'm going to ask if anyone wants to spar," Murtagh said quietly.

"Are you sure?" Brom asked, uncertain.

"Yes. Maybe it'll help to... clear the air," he garbled, noticing some of the looks he was being given and deciding action was required.

Brom nodded gravely. "Very well. Just come back in one piece."

"Oh, I count on it," Murtagh said with sarcasm, before stalking off.

Brom and Eragon approached a more secluded section of the area, where two women stood waiting for their arrival. One was a magician of Du Vrangr Gata, with Brom's announcement that she would be there for his magical testing. She was fair and elegant, with dark hair that tumbled past her shoulders and a head held high with confidence, but not overconfidence. Her slightly pale skin threw her tresses into contrast, which served to make her look even more stunning, and her dark blue eyes looked for the world as though they could pierce the heart of stone with their mysterious splendour.

The second woman was noticeable to Eragon in a heartbeat. Arya had haunted his dreams and waking thoughts with good reason. She was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with raven coloured hair and high, elegant cheekbones. Her body gave off an aroma of crushed pine needles, which sent pleasant tingles up and down his spine, and her slanted eyes of emerald hue would surely be the last things he thought of on his death bed, such was their mystique. The tapered ears did not bother him, and only added to his attraction – he thought they were exotic, and that thought enticed his very soul.

Brom approached and gave a bow. "Eragon, allow me to introduce Arya svit-kona, Princess of Ellesméra and Elven Ambassador to The Varden, and Trianna, the esteemed leader of Du Vrangr Gata."

Eragon bowed deeply, showing the utmost courtesy and respect; not just for Arya's sake, but because he treated all women honourably. "My ladies, it is an honour to make your acquaintance."

"The honour is mine, Eragon, noble Shur'tugal," Arya said, repeating his action. Her voice had a musical quality, and he felt it wash over his entire body with a shudder. He wanted to hear that voice for the rest of his life. It was much more endearing than any song he had ever heard.

Trianna respectfully greeted him, but then frowned. She was obviously more casual than Arya. "Brom, what is the meaning of this? Have there been changes made to the testing schedules for both Riders? I thought Ajihad would have notified me first."

Brom scratched his head uncomfortably and relatively sheepishly, thinking back...

"_I don't give a shit about your bloody 'test'! You tell whoever's in charge of the procedure that my friend may be dying here! Now get out of my sight if you're going. No, I don't care about offending anyone! Alright, then give them my apologies, but state clearly _this_ is more important! Okay? Good. And will someone please get Angela up here already?!" _

"There was a... change in plans," Brom said. Deciding to elaborate before either questioned him further, he continued: "Harry made it plain that, if it were possible, he would be tested tomorrow instead. The situation was unavoidable."

"Ajihad won't be happy to hear that," Trianna said simply. She quickly wheeled her mind over Brom's demeanour. It appeared he was withholding parts of the truth, and she wanted to know why. It was bad enough that they were giving her newfound title as leader of Du Vrangr Gata to a newcomer, but now that newcomer didn't even bother to turn up and greet her? She wouldn't stand for it.

"I'll explain it to him myself," Brom promised, as Arya watched on with interest.

"No. That won't be necessary. Is your friend ill?" Trianna asked Eragon.

"I- yes," Eragon nodded, only too late catching Brom's furious warning look over her shoulder. He mentally recoiled as he realised what he had done. Trust his nerves at being around two beautiful women to fail him at a time like this.

"Very well. If it is not a problem, I can go and visit him. I'm quite adapt at healing illnesses and wounds. It'll also give me an opportunity to meet him today, so we get an extra day of work done. Surely you understand that type of efficiency, Brom?" she asked rhetorically.

Brom gave a reluctant nod.

"Good. If it is not too much trouble, may I beg a favour of you?" she asked Eragon, giving him a genuine smile.

Eragon sighed. He already knew what it was and didn't really have a choice after the blunder he made. "Yes. Saphira will be here shortly. She wanted to fly for a little while. If she consents, I will allow her to take you up to the dragonhold. But be careful – she doesn't take too kindly to most strangers."

"_Harry, you're going to have a visitor. Trianna from Du Vrangr Gata will be there soon to ask why you haven't shown up here today. I suggest hiding Kreacher," _Eragon relayed.

Harry gave a mental sigh. _"I expected persistency, but not this much so quickly. Fine. There won't be any problem if she doesn't snoop. I've moved Kreacher into your bed for the time being, since it's obscured by the back wall near the door."_

"_What! My bed? What was wrong with your own?"_

"_Yours looked more comfortable."_

Eragon ended the connection and grumbled slightly. Arya gave him an unusual look. Her expression changed by the narrowest of fractions into a questioning persona, and her head tilted ever so slightly to one side. Her eyes shone at him.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, and his chills returned tenfold.

"Yes... yes, everything is fine, thank you. I was just annoyed at... Harry's illness hampering our session today," he responded nervously.

She gave him a narrow smile, and her eyes twinkled. "Do not worry. We will manage by ourselves for the time being. Would you prefer to begin with swords, or knowledge of the Ancient Language?"

"Whichever you prefer," Eragon said suavely, smiling.

Brom groaned, rolling his eyes.

They waited a few minutes for Saphira to arrive. When she appeared overhead with a roar to display her ferocity to the veterans beneath her, all activity stopped, and every eye was fixed upon her beating wings. She landed with a thud, blowing dust into the eyes of many people nearby, although none had the courage to complain about the matter. Some of the Varden gave encouraging cheers, whereas the majority of dwarves simply stood there, impassive, yet inwardly giddy.

"_It is a good day but for the glow of the Sun upon my scales," _Saphira declared happily, and Eragon beamed for her joy. He also missed the natural weather, obscured because of the mountain.

"_I think we will get used to that before long, unfortunately."_

"_Hmph. Correct, little one. Although I do wonder how these humans and dwarves can enjoy being cooped up for so long at one time. Such a lifestyle isn't even bestowed upon cattle. All living creatures need to run free and true_," Saphira said sagely.

"_An acquired taste, if you ask me. But hopefully we won't have to find out. _Saphira, this is Trianna, and this is Arya," he said, switching to verbal speech. Saphira inclined her head, and both women looked gratified.

"Truly, it is an honour, Saphira Bjartskular," Arya said clearly. "I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you now. I carried your egg, and it brings joy to my heart to see you flourish."

"_I thank you for protecting me, and for leading me into Eragon's path," _Saphira replied. _"I'm sorry that you were taken by that foul monster."_

Arya nodded, and Eragon was alarmed to see a slightly forlorn expression grip her features. Her eyes appeared leagues away. "Durza is a vile creature, but somehow I could resist him. I owe the three of you my life for rescuing me."

_I'll kill Durza for harming her_, Eragon swore.

"You would have done the same for us," Brom grunted as an old friend might. "So don't mention it."

Saphira shifted her gaze to Trianna, who hadn't spoken yet. She gave a quick curtsy. "O, great dragon, it was a proud day for all free peoples of Alagaësia when you stepped into our home with friendship in your heart and courage in your mind. I hope you can help lead us to victory and freedom, so that the bards may sing of Saphira the Mighty for millennia to come."

Saphira was obviously mollified by Trianna's words, and she said as much to Eragon.

"_Are you sure she's not trying to play you a little?"_

"_Oh, there is no doubt about that," _Saphira told him. _"But to be a female in such a society is no menial task when men are oft the hunters and the strong. She uses her words to find an advantage many others do not. She knows what she is doing, and I admire her determination and fortitude. I like her."_

"_And that settles it for you, of course," _Eragon summed up.

"_Of course."_

"Saphira has agreed to carry you," Eragon told Trianna. "She'll take you to the dragonhold and wait until you are ready to leave again. She... uh... she likes you."

Trianna beamed. "I'm honoured. Thank you both."

"Think nothing of it," Eragon said plainly, walking over to Saphira and removing his sword belt and scabbard. He allowed the tiredness to leave his bones, even though he was certain it would return amplified a few hours later. "Now, I'm in the mood to fight something, so how does this test work?"

"It's simple: you fight Arya," Brom smirked, seeing his eager expression droop.

_Hmm... an elf, _he thought quickly. _Elves are naturally superior to humans in almost every way physically, so she'll have the advantage. I'll have to tread lightly and fight defensively if I can. _

"Okay, my lady," Eragon said to Arya. "I'm ready to begin when you are."

"As am I. But please, call me Arya when the situation doesn't call for formality," she said kindly. "I owe you much more than that."

Eragon nodded, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach. "Very well then, Arya. Let's go!"

* * *

Harry sat on a simple wooden chair next to the still form of his devoted friend, Kreacher. The house elf had collapsed from sheer magical exhaustion following his dramatic entrance into the newly-repaired dragonhold, and had not awoken in the half hour since. Harry had staunchly refused to leave the room until he could ensure the little Kreacher's wellbeing, even though it meant disregarding his testing for the time being.

Before leaving for the training field, Saphira had found Solembum, Angela's werecat. He guided Saphira to her hideout in the old ruins, and the dragon was able to convince her to offer Harry her help. Harry knotted his hands and leant his chin against the upright forefingers, watching as the witch busied herself about the sleeping figure before him. She had been quite surprised upon seeing him for the first time.

"I mean, it's immeasurably difficult to decide if I should give him medicine, but... oh, really! Why does he wear these filthy rags?" Angela demanded, rounding on Harry.

Harry blinked. "It's a long story."

Angela 'hmphed'. "Well, I should like to hear it sometime. There's no way it's healthy. If he ever got hurt they could cause an infection!"

Harry sighed and rubbed his aching temples. What a day this had been. If he knew how to brew a headache potion he would have one before blinking again. His brain was mercilessly throbbing, and it felt as though the membranes were scratching painfully against the skull, even if that obviously wasn't the case.

"Can you heal him or not?" Harry asked irritably.

"Of course I can! But maybe you should watch the attitude a little, young man!"

Harry held up a hand, without raising his face. "I'm sorry. I just haven't slept in a while... hang on, 'young man'? You couldn't be more than three years older than me, if that!"

Angela scoffed. "Don't judge a book by its cover. I'm much older than you think."

"Since it's rude to ask someone their age I won't, but I'm curious now."

Angela flashed him a smile. "Well, at least you have some idea of manners. Let's just say I've been around since before the land was called Alagaësia."

Harry blinked. "Do you use a moisturiser?"

Angela laughed uproariously, before plopping herself down on the end of the bed. "Well, I've had a look at him, and it appears there is no immediate danger, so I don't _need_ to heal him. His mind was very unusual to touch, but thankfully asleep. And that is all: he's merely sleeping. The strain of travelling must have been exhausting."

"Yes, something similar happened to me," Harry said slowly, brow creased. "It may take him some time to wake up then, possibly a day or more."

"Quite. Do you plan on going to get tested now that you know he'll be alright?"

"Is there any point in asking how you know about that?"

"Oh, I knew some type of test would be involved. It only makes sense. After all, you _are_ a Rider, and all concerned will want a synopsis of your strengths and weaknesses. Eragon is in the same boat."

"Yes, well, to answer that question: no," Harry said flatly, rising to his feet and stretching. "I'm not going anywhere until he awakens, just in case there's any other problem. But I won't keep you if you have other matters to attend to."

"Good! I have a cauldron bubbling and a potion to scoop out before it melts a hole in the floor," Angela said cheerfully.

"Sounds dangerous."

"Is a flesh-dissolving acid dangerous? I hadn't noticed."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I guess that depends on how you look at it. Is a butter knife dangerous?"

"Ah, I'm glad to see you're using your brain," Angela said, flashing him a grin. "And your wit – it's very sophisticated for one your age."

"I can be morbidly funny," Harry deadpanned. "Or just morbid, if you prefer."

"Maybe you should save that for your poetry," Angela informed him, gathering up her instruments.

"Poetry?"

"Of course! All of the greatest poetry is written after the would-be poet has suffered throughout their life, whether it be through war, from love or whatever nonsense. Surely your own world is similar?"

"Eh... I never really checked. I guess poetry isn't my thing," Harry admitted.

"Never give up what you haven't already tried," Angela said, rapping him sharply on the nose with her forefinger. "And never pass up a good thing."

"What does that mean?"

"You have company," Angela said, ignoring the question.

Harry rose to his feet, having already felt Saphira approaching. He braced himself for the verbal onslaught sure to come his way, and what's more, it would be from a woman he had never even met. He walked to the entrance of the dragonhold with Angela, feeling the cold cut through his leather tunic and breeches as Saphira landed.

"Do you want me to ask her to give you a ride back down?" he asked over his shoulder, receiving no response. "Angela?" Harry turned his head, but found that she was already gone.

"_How does she do that!?"_

He received a mental image of irritation from the slumbering Aru.

"_Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep."_

Saphira's sharp claws crackled against the magical sapphire as she carefully hunched over, allowing the young woman on her back to dismount. She did so gratefully, and slowly came to stand in front of Harry. Saphira exchanged a nod with him, before flying away. Harry's attention was drawn back to the woman before him.

Harry eyed her carefully. She was inlaid with a look of determination, yet despite her beauty, his eyes were taken by the mysterious gold serpent entwined around her wrist. Hating snakes with a passion, he shuddered a little. She didn't seem to notice.

"Harry Potter?" Trianna inquired, finding the second name unusual in place of a father's.

Harry nodded. "At your service, my lady. And you are...?"

"Trianna," she said clearly, holding her head a little higher. "Leader of Du Vrangr Gata... or should I say _former_ leader of Du Vrangr Gata?"

Harry raised his hands in sympathy. "Please. I didn't decide that, and would rather not take the position at all. Brom chose me, and that's all there is to it."

Trianna blinked, apparently surprised. "You're serious. You didn't want the role?" she asked suspiciously.

Harry shook his head, and repeated the phrase in the Ancient Language. That seemed to strike a chord, as her eyes widened.

"I see... in that case, I apologise for blaming you without first hearing your side. It was unjust."

Harry shook his head. "Not at all. You're not at fault. I would have felt the same, if it's any consolation. Please, would you like to sit?"

Trianna nodded and Harry politely led her inside. She made an appreciative noise upon seeing the welcoming sofa, and sat down at one end, before smiling.

"This is comfortable. My compliments."

"Thank you," Harry said, inclining his head and sitting opposite her. "So, what brings you here, if I may ask?"

He decided to get straight down to it, without wasting time. She had to leave quickly in order to minimise the chances of Kreacher being discovered. He would eventually have to tell the Varden about the house elf's arrival, but that could wait until he trusted them at least a little more.

"I come on behalf of Ajihad. He wants both you and Eragon to be tested physically and magically. However, since you didn't show up today..."

"I'm sorry about that," Harry said quickly. "Did Eragon tell you?" he asked in a deliberately leading manner. He couldn't speak a different story than Eragon's, else she would surely become suspicious.

"About your illness? Yes."

"_Oh, for- seriously, Eragon? An illness? How didn't you know she would want to come and check it out?" _Harry demanded.

"_I was preoccupied!" _he replied defensively.

"_You mean you were too busy fantasising over Arya? Okay, I forgive you."_

"_I didn't say that!"_

"_You didn't have to."_

Trianna grinned at him, and he noticed it gave her a slightly rebellious look that he found intriguing. "Your friend had the same distant look earlier. I'm not a fool, you know. Feel free to communicate mentally if you want, but please don't try to make me look stupid."

Harry scoffed. "Fair enough. Although by the looks of things, that would be a very difficult task indeed."

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning.

"Call it... _intuition._ I can see that you're a very intelligent person, with great power to control and manipulate others. But at the same time I don't think you do, or at least you've never had to. You're very prolific when it comes to magic, and are stronger than most of the magicians living inside this mountain, so many people respect you as it is. Fooling you wouldn't be easy by any means."

Trianna raised her eyebrows with amusement. She found herself strangely enjoying this little conversation, despite telling herself en route that there would be a lot of yelling. "Really? You can tell all of that from a single glance? How so?"

Harry nodded towards her. "Your demeanour. It's graceful, yet speaks of great power and knowledge. I've seen other people with a similar look, but never one with your amount of determination. I respect you for that alone, and I daresay there's also a lot more to you that would lend credence to these facts."

Trianna grinned, folding her arms. "Go on."

"Sure. I believe your confidence and abilities brought you to the eyes of Ajihad, which is why you're in such a powerful position at such a young age. Unless you're like Angela, in which case everything I've said is probably wrong," Harry said sheepishly, scratching his head.

"No, you're right. Mostly. I turned nine and ten only two months ago, and you're correct in saying the Varden noticed me at a young age. I've lived here all my life, and owe my skill to their teachings," she revealed.

"Then what did I get wrong?" Harry asked curiously.

"Not too many people respect me. I'm known only to a few, and even they think I don't know my place. The twins are quite fast in pointing that out every time I voice my opinion," she said bitterly.

Harry waved a hand dismissively. "Forget about them. I know you don't like the idea of playing second fiddle to anyone, especially not to an outsider, but I promise you it'll be different for however long I need to remain in charge. You'll get an equal say in everything, and I'll definitely value your expertise."

"Thank you," Trianna said, inclining her head. She looked up again, and found his eyes on her intently. Most uncharacteristically, she found herself blushing. A piercing emerald shade, they truly were striking to her.

Harry cleared his throat and looked away as he caught her gaze. "So, tell me about this testing. What would you like me to do to prove myself?"

"I think this conversation has proven your maturity and intelligence quite aptly," Trianna said in a slightly choked voice. She raised her forefinger. "I only ask you to perform one spell for me, and then I will be satisfied."

Harry nodded. "That sounds fair enough. What spell?"

"You misunderstand. _You _choose. Surprise me."

Harry blinked. He hadn't been expecting that. It was a clear test of his ability to think as well as to cast, then. He shifted his gaze to the sapphire for a moment, thinking. It would be best he showed her a Latin spell, as that would prove his resolve more than anything. Also, it could be something she had never before seen.

Harry smiled. He was feeling strangely sheepish, and had the perfect idea. Normally his mind would be screaming 'no', but this time it chose not to. Is this what Angela had meant by _"never pass up a good thing"_? She could read elements of the future, after all. Withdrawing his wand, he held it in his palm gently.

"_Orchideous."_

Trianna recoiled as a slight bang reverberated around the room, but quickly felt her eyes widen as she observed the bunch of sweet-smelling violets that Harry had conjured.

"For you."

She smiled happily and took them graciously, finding the conjuration process from the wand invigorating and the results beautiful. They were real violets, healthy and magically pruned to perfection.

"They're wonderful," she commented gently.

"Not much use in combat, unless the Urgals have an allergy to botany. I just thought someone so lovely deserved something lovely in turn."

Harry choked as he realised what he had said.

"_Eragon and Murtagh will find this conversation of great interest," _Saphira commented, snickering.

"_Are you eavesdropping?" _Harry demanded.

"_Of course not. Your quiet voice carries in the wind," _she replied smugly, landing once again near the entrance with a roar.

"...if you would like to, that is?"

Harry looked at Trianna, realising she had been talking the whole time. Luckily, he had an excuse.

"I'm very sorry, but I didn't catch that. Saphira can be quite... _loud."_

Saphira bared her teeth, and Harry smirked at her. _"Play with me, and I'll fight back before keeling over. Not all prey will give you comfort."_

"I... I was just wondering if you would like me to guide you around the city a little, tomorrow morning?" she repeated, faltering slightly. "It'll give me a chance to introduce you to the other members of Du Vrangr Gata, and I'm sure we could have fun exploring. I enjoy your company."

Harry's stomach knotted. Was she flirting with him? It definitely seemed that way. He wasn't sure about this. She seemed like a very nice person to speak to, and was stunningly beautiful in his eyes, but he couldn't help but think about Ginny. Kreacher's appearance had given him fresh hope.

Annoyed with himself, he inwardly shook his head.

_Get a grip, Harry,_ he told himself. _I can't go back home, and now Kreacher is here too, which means she couldn't get here either. And even if he could return and bring her, the magical effort would probably kill them both. I need to accept I'll never see her again, unless I want to scry her every second for the rest of her life._

In that instant his mind was made up. Where was the harm in at least some friendly company?

"Y-yes, that sounds great," he stammered. He berated himself for stumbling a little, but couldn't really help it. He hadn't tried to approach anyone in a long time.

Trianna beamed. She didn't know what had possessed her to do something like that. It was very unlike her.

_I've only known him for twenty minutes. How can he have this kind of effect on me? _She wondered.

If she had read his mind, or he hers, both would have discovered an identical set of thoughts.

* * *

Saphira had a quick snack of cold beef before escorting Trianna back to the sparring field. She loved the feeling of soaring through the air more than anything else in the whole world, and wasn't truly complete without the brush of the wind against her glorious wings, and Eragon on her back. Even as a young dragon she knew the connection they both had with Harry and Aru was very unusual, but it was certainly welcome. She may not feel anywhere near as attached to Harry as to her own Rider, but spending time with him could help dull the loneliness if Eragon was elsewhere quite significantly.

She pondered this, wondering to what extent it would inevitably reach. If both young men were to have families that extended far and wide in the future, would she be linked to all of them, or would it end with only the two? And what would her connection to Harry be if she and Arucane were to fall in love when he was a little older?

It was strange how the heart worked for tiny humans. Eragon was infatuated with Arya. She knew this for a fact. And now Harry was clearly attracted to Trianna, and she to him. She knew instinctively that dragons produced a show of affection when they desired one another, so to her the premise of courting made no sense, or, as Harry had called it: 'dating'. You couldn't force yourself to fall in love with someone through sheer effort. People fell in love without trying, and often without meaning to, so she strongly believed in love at first sight, yet many humans did not.

_It baffles me, and yet I forget about every worry and every doubt when I am flying with joy in my heart. That is why to fly is to know the greatest sensation imaginable._

She also noticed being connected with Harry had altered her way of speaking more than a little. Despite living in Alagaësia for many months now, his dialect was queer when compared with those around him, and it caused her to speak a little differently without noticing, a reality amplified by its effect upon both Aru and Eragon also.

Saphira gave a mighty roar as she sailed atop buildings and magically-grown fields, hearing the clash of steel-on-iron from even this distance. Above her Trianna held on tightly. She really was lucky, Saphira thought. There were very few strangers she would have accommodated in such a manner, if any. She should feel honoured to ride a daughter of the sky, and said as much.

"_Think nothing of it, little one,_" Saphira replied with a grunt. _"So long as the partner of my heart and his friends trust you, I shall do the same."_

Murtagh took a quick glance up as she passed overhead, still hoping beyond hope he was not being tortured into a coma beneath Urû'baen. His opponent, a burly dwarf known as Freale, chose that moment to strike, roaring loudly. Murtagh expected the deception and quickly brought his blade up to parry the powerful warhammer, before gliding around the dwarf's instep and flattening him with the sole of his boot. He pinned him to the ground with his foot and gently pointed his sword at Freale's neck.

The dwarf grunted in annoyance and waved him away, before reluctantly accepting an arm up. He clasped it tightly in a warrior's embrace.

"Well fought, lad," he said in a gravelled and somewhat dishevelled voice. "It is a rare occasion that I am bested by a human. I can see now how you were able to escape the capital. Twice."

"Thank you, Freale," Murtagh nodded appreciatively. "You fight very well. I was just lucky."

The dwarf made a dismissive noise at that. He touched his forehead in a respectful manner before turning away, most likely to discuss the newly bastardised human with his companions. Murtagh paid this no heed, and instead allowed his eyes to follow Saphira. She landed a bit away from him, where Eragon was attempting to levitate about a dozen or so rocks simultaneously. Curious, he sheathed his blade and walked towards them, sidestepping the duos and trios sparring together.

Unfortunately, his prior prediction of being accosted held true.

"Ah, if it isn't the son of Morzan, or rather, the _bastard_ of Morzan," declared a menacing voice.

Murtagh wheeled around, determined to break someone's nose, but found himself face-to-face with the twins, who were smiling mischievously towards him. All activity nearby ceased, as many turned to watch the altercation.

"What do you want?" Murtagh demanded, eyeing them cautiously. He rested one hand on his sword, ready to draw it in an instant if need be.

"Come now, do you really think a piece of sharpened iron will stop us?" one of the twins laughed, indicating the hand-and-a-half sword.

"I think a wet paper bag and an old lady with a parasol could stop the likes of you," Murtagh smirked.

The crowd sucked in their breath, but the twins were furious at the insult, and promptly showed it. One of them rolled up his sleeves and began to levitate rocks nearby, whilst the other got ready to add a deadly touch to the incantation.

"Brisi-"

"Stop!"

Murtagh glanced over his shoulder and saw Brom approaching, looking furious. The twins paled slightly, quickly dropping their supposed barrage of projectiles. Murtagh allowed his grip to loosen a little. He was a half-second away from drawing before Brom appeared.

"What in the deepest circle of hell is wrong with you two?" Brom demanded, glaring at them with pure, undiluted rage and loathing.

"Perhaps you should keep a shorter leash on your untrained dogs," one of them spat back. With a furious gesture, they both turned and stormed off the field, sparing not a glance back.

"Next time I'm taking a pair of legs for my trouble!" Brom yelled after them.

There was some sporadic laughter at his threat, and the area returned to normal. Murtagh gave a low whistle, relieved until Brom rounded on him.

"And you! What are you playing at?" Brom snapped, shoving him in the chest.

"It was their doing, not mine!" Murtagh growled, outraged. "They called me-"

"Don't provoke them!" Brom growled. "It doesn't matter if they call you every name under the Sun! If you mess around with those two you'll end up dead before long!"

Murtagh shook his head furiously. "They have to be the traitors. No one else has had such difficulty in accepting us, even me. And Harry heard them virtually proclaim their belief of the king being all powerful when we met with Ajihad a few hours ago."

"No, no! You can't jump to conclusions," Brom stated, pointing a finger at him. "Just because they're a pair of menacing devils doesn't mean they're traitors. No spy is stupid enough to draw so much attention to themselves. It'll likely be someone quieter, hidden in plain sight."

"But the open hostility-"

"Doesn't matter," Brom declared in a tone that booked no argument. "Do you really think I don't suspect them? It could all be a ploy into making me think they aren't the spies, when in reality they are. I'm keeping a close watch on both of them."

"No, you're not... you're watching me at the moment."

"Don't be a smartass," Brom said. Then he gave an irrepressible grin. "I have to say the image of an old woman beating the two to death with an umbrella tickles me."

"Didn't Harry have a word for that? 'Psychotic', wasn't it?" Murtagh teased.

Brom clapped him around the head jokingly.

"Hey! What was all that about?" Eragon exclaimed, walking over with Arya and Saphira.

Murtagh shook his head. "Nothing important. Just an altercation with the twins. How goes your testing?"

Eragon scratched his head, embarrassed. "That depends on how you look at it. Arya wiped the floor with me, but she still says I passed."

"I saw a little of it from here," Murtagh nodded. "It was extraordinary swordplay. And you're right – she did. My compliments, my lady."

"They are appreciated," Arya said cordially. "Eragon still passed his test, and moreover, I am gladdened by the remarkable progress he has shown if it is true he only began to use a sword several months ago."

"Hardly even that," Brom said honestly, arms folded. "The boys both have skill. As does this one," he added, nodding at Murtagh.

"I can't wait until you fight Harry," Eragon announced suddenly. "He may have a little surprise in store for you."

"What do you mean?" Arya asked with curiosity.

"Oh, let's just say... he has a trick or two _up his sleeve."_

* * *

"Garjzla!"

Durza watched with awe and terror as his king smote another group of warriors with a single flick of his finger. It had happened so many times he was now accustomed to the sensation, and yet watching the king fling a bolt of light with such impunity made his blood run cold. It was the type of strength he dreaded ever facing in battle.

Galbatorix leered as the Surdan warriors collapsed to the ground promptly, screaming in anguish as their skin began to boil within the armour they wore. He clenched his fist tightly, enhancing the sensation, before opening it sharply in an expansive gesture. The screaming stopped as each soldier physically exploded in a blend of blood and entrails, splattering the courtyard. Around the two magicians were hundreds of imperial soldiers, massacring Orrin's men without mercy. They never stood a chance against such a mighty force.

Walking purposefully, his cloak billowing around his ankles, Galbatorix approached the ornate oaken doors to the palace, and gritted his teeth. He pulled back his arm and thrust it forward with the word 'jierda', smashing them into thousands of tiny splinters. Several guards who had been barricading the entrance were blown backwards, faces and necks peppered with sharpened stakes. Galbatorix used his power to call every wooden fragment before him, forming a barrage of deadly projectiles. He fired these at the soldiers within, killing around thirty in effortless seconds, their armour useless as the buzzing hornets pierced them relentlessly. Their blood painted the throne room with an exquisite example of his reddened resolve.

As a last ditch effort, archers took aim at him and fired.

"Letta."

He halted the arrows mid-flight and flicked them casually into the wall, where they impaled themselves sharply. Without hesitation, Galbatorix unleashed his magic upon the daring archers, their cries music to his ears. He tossed them towards their very own weapons, and there they dangled, impaled through the neck and torso, coughing up mouthfuls of blood and bile until finally succumbing to their painful demises.

King Orrin stood before his throne, the sole survivor of the Aberon battle on his side. His eyes were wide, but this was quickly hidden with a furious snarl. His grip tightened on the jewelled sword he held, and he rushed Galbatorix, giving a wild cry.

Galbatorix smirked. "Jierda."

Orrin's legs snapped backwards, and he fell to the ground with an agonised howl. He lost his grip on the longsword, and it skidded across the marble floor, stopping at Galbatorix's feet. He leaned down and picked it up, a testament to his victory.

"Orrin. How lovely to see you again," he smiled viciously, eyes glinting.

"Y-you bastard!" Orrin shouted, still overcome by the pain in his legs.

Galbatorix tsked. "Come now, Orrin. That is hardly language befitting a king. Although, there you are forgiven. You are a king no longer. This is _my_ domain, and you _will _bow to me."

Orrin paused, looking up to him bravely. The pain was such that he couldn't prevent tears from streaming down his face.

_The foolishness of youth,_ Galbatorix thought.

"I would rather die than bow before you," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Galbatorix nodded, understanding. "I'll grant that wish, but you'll still bow before me in death. I'll have your corpse stripped of its skin and laid before the very throne you sat upon! How does that sound? Enjoyable?!"

"You're insane," Orrin whispered, shaking his head.

"Your definition of _sanity_ bores me," Galbatorix whispered back, leaning down and roughly grabbing his neck. He yanked it backwards, so that Orrin had his gaze fixed upon the roof. "Take it all in, Orrin. This building is the last you will ever see if you don't kneel before me here and now. I promise you that."

"You do what you wish. The Varden will make you pay," Orrin declared with confidence, gasping from the pain.

Galbatorix laughed. Not just a simple chuckle. He threw back his head and howled with laughter, frightening many of the soldiers who stood behind him, watching the spectacle unfold.

"The Varden?! They are about to suffer the same fate as your precious Surda. Durza!"

The Shade rushed forward, giving a bow. "My lord?"

"What news from the twins?"

"They reported an hour ago," Durza declared quietly. "They are worried Brom suspects them, and claim new wards are being erected."

"It is as I suspected," Galbatorix simpered, eyes narrowing, unmoved from Orrin. "Go. Meet the Kull gathered within the mountains. Bring me the Rider, his companion, and Murtagh. Kill the rest."

"Yes, my lord. But I fear it will take some time to amass our full strength. The final batch of Urgals will take three days to arrive, and... bringing him back weakened me, sire," Durza said nervously.

"You have that time. But on the third day storm Farthen Dur, and then Tronjheim. Slaughter the scum," Galbatorix hissed.

Durza bowed and left.

"No! You can't! There are women and children!" Orrin cried.

"They shall meet the same fate as you," Galbatorix gloated.

"F-fate? What fate?"

Galbatorix released him. Orrin was shocked for a moment, thinking he may have earned a reprieve. He opened his mouth to protest, stating he would die before serving, but never got the words out.

"Thrysta!"

Galbatorix used his magic to rip Orrin's head clean off of his shoulders, dragging the bloodied spine out with it. Several men recoiled in disgust, but many gave great cheers as they say their enemy fall. The king flung his nemesis' headless body into the throne at the opposite end of the room, where he positioned it upright.

"Here sits the Surdan king," he declared, before holding the head up high. Blood dribbled down his robes, but he cared not. He had his victory. This punishment was a testament to those who would defy him. The soldiers raucously began to shout approval and mocking insults towards Orrin. "Captain!"

"My lord?" said a young soldier breathlessly, rushing forward and kneeling.

"Bring me a spike. It's time to redecorate this throne room," he said.

"Yes, sir!"

He smiled evilly to himself, back turned to the soldiers. A black shadow seemed to pass by his eyes as he imagined what was soon to come.

_Surda has fallen. The Varden will follow. My victory... will soon be complete._


	20. Chapter Twenty

**A:N -** A late happy third anniversary to this story. For those of you who may be wondering: when I write Nyos I imagine him to look, act and sound like Ray Stevenson (Titus Pullo) in the T.V series 'Rome'.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty – Brewing War**

* * *

Nary had a day gone past where Harry did not think the rapidly approaching war with the king would arrive on the doorstep of the Varden, parade itself around, and then start gutting people left, right and centre. It woke him in the nights, haunted his days and caused him to relay memories from the battle at Hogwarts, among many other violent confrontations with Death Eaters alike. He imagined the scenes of destruction continuously at these times – Carvahall was burning, Teirm was levelled... the list went on to include every landmark he had observed in the past few months.

Unlike Eragon and Murtagh, he had seen the horrors of war in their full devastation. While it was true that Eragon had been present for Yazuac, where the streets were littered with the corpses of the innocent, Harry had been no stranger to such an atrocity even then. Massacres at the Ministry, Gringotts and Hogwarts itself were some of the more prominent scenarios that repeated themselves onerously in his head each and every day.

So, when Brom had urgently shaken them awake a couple of nights after Eragon's fight with Arya, citing 'trouble', Harry was dressed so quickly it surprised even him. He also donned his sword, but left the bow and quiver at their resting place beside the bed.

_Someday, _he thought. _Someday I'll take the time to learn how to shoot that bloody thing. But not today, I think..._

Eragon quickly followed his example, but even as he knew the severity of the situation he couldn't repress a stifled yawn. Harry cast an _aguamenti _charm at him as a makeshift alarm, and Eragon nodded in thanks, before wiping the water off of his face. They waited until Murtagh joined them, before departing. Harry casually held out his arm and Aru pounced onto his shoulder, where he perched above everybody like an attentive, bubbly gargoyle.

Kreacher still hadn't awoken after two nights of lying unconscious, so besides ensuring he was fed and watered somewhat awkwardly, there was nothing more Harry could do. He departed the cave with a glance over his shoulder. He had left a note on Kreacher's chest telling him to eat and drink as much as he wanted if he awoke, but to wait for Harry to return unless it wasn't safe, in which case he should leave immediately. Otherwise, he would still be asleep and there should be no problems.

Orik was waiting for the group near Tronjheim's main gates. Harry liked the dwarf. He was friendly, spoke no nonsense and displayed an intelligence that seemed to surpass many dwarves for their inability to care about other races. Orik wasn't as self-centred – he genuinely seemed to care about others, and was proud to be a member of the Varden. He took after his liege lord well; the trio had met the king the day after Arya had tested Eragon. Harry favoured Hrothgar well enough, but found that he didn't command the same kind of respect that Ajihad did. Then again, that wasn't entirely his fault, despite his slightly big head. The division of the clans was asinine when one considered the terse situation the land was embroiled in.

"What's happening?" Brom asked immediately as Saphira landed. Harry wordlessly disabled the featherlight charms and listened closely.

Orik shook his head. "I can't say. Ajihad is holding an emergency meeting. King Hrothgar and Jörmundur will be there."

Brom swore. "Jörmundur is in charge of the army," he informed them quietly, as Orik began to lead them swiftly towards Ajihad's study. "If he's there then..."

"We're going to be attacked," Harry concluded, feeling his heart beat a little faster. This wouldn't be anything like he had ever before seen, either. Swordplay was much more imprecise and nasty than any wizard's duel. Death would doubtless be dealt out in droves.

Brom nodded, hurrying to keep pace with the surprisingly agile dwarf, who didn't look back. "Gentlemen, now is the time to bring out your best, most serious sides. Do _not_ hesitate if you have an idea that may save our hides – hearing everything is paramount to doing anything. But watch and listen closely. In battle you'll have to follow orders. Harry, what can you tell me about Du Vrangr Gata?"

Harry had taken command of the group of magicians officially only yesterday. From what he had seen, the bulk of the group were relatively weak in the arcane arts. Very few could speak more than a dozen sentences in the Ancient Language, and those who could were limited from obscure religious beliefs. That had annoyed him. Having to rely on an ineffective cluster of half-assed magic weavers would be detrimental to any chance of victory. The only one he really trusted to make any difference was Trianna, but even she couldn't compare to the likes of Brom, Eragon and himself.

"Very little. Over a third specialise in healing rather than combat. I've only started basic training in incantations and controlling the flow of magic, but..."

"But you still need to practice yourself," Brom said. "Don't be ashamed. If they can make even the slightest difference it may have a huge effect on the outcome of this battle. I have a dozen words the two of you must learn before anything happens, but that needs to wait until after this council. I won't repeat them in other company."

Eragon exchanged a glance with Harry. That sounded quite suspicious. _"What do you think? I'm assuming these are powerful ways of killing."_

"_I concur," _Saphira replied. _"Perhaps with such power that Brom does not wish anyone else to know of them."_

"I could do with Nyos' help," Harry admitted as they stopped outside the door to Ajihad's study. "But I still don't know where the hell he is."

"I've heard tales of an intimidating man getting drunk at the local tavern and starting fights over simple matters," Orik said. "I only know because even my kind is wary of this stranger."

Murtagh scoffed. "That sounds like him."

"If it is he'd better sober up," Harry said firmly. "Orik, could you please send a messenger to find him?"

Orik nodded. "I shall. Ajihad is waiting inside. I'll be with you shortly, in that case."

Brom didn't bother knocking, but simply swung the door open and strode inside impatiently. The others followed suit, finding a forlorn atmosphere. Hrothgar, Arya, Ajihad and an imposing, ebony man who could only be Jörmundur stood around his table, which was covered by a map of the area and plans for the city.

"What news?" Brom asked, striding to the table and skipping the pleasantries.

"The worst kind," Ajihad said. "A dwarven runner managed to intercept a communication between two Urgals only an hour ago. Whilst he couldn't understand everything that was said, the message was clear: an army is approaching this city."

"We've expected that," Brom nodded fiercely. "From above or below?"

"Below."

"Damn it!"

"What's the problem?" Harry asked. "If the tunnels are the only way to access the city, why not block them off entirely?"

"We can't do that!" King Hrothgar exclaimed. "If we block the entrances they'll start digging in random locations, which could threaten the safety of this entire city from right beneath us!"

Harry started, blinking. "'Beneath us'? I'm sorry, but are you saying this city is spread out across volcanic fault lines? That's insane!"

"Have a care, Harry," Ajihad said dangerously. "You're addressing a king, remember. And what are 'volcanic fault lines', exactly?"

"To hell with decorum!" Harry exclaimed furiously. "This is a time for action, not talking!"

"Harry's right," Brom said quickly, trying to stem any heated arguing. "This construction error could cost us all our lives. But that doesn't matter. We need to think of another solution, and quickly too. Ideas?" he asked the room at large.

"We've already decided upon a course of action," Ajihad said, motioning Hrothgar. "We're going to focus our efforts and drive them into the three central tunnels by blocking the extraneous ones. This will force them to approach from that direction without wasting time digging, and it should keep the city out of harm's way. We have to destroy them in Farthen Dur, or else the entire dwarven population is at risk within the Beor Mountains."

"What of their army, sir?" Jörmundur queried. "I can't plan our defence without knowing how large our enemy is. And are the king's soldiers with them?"

"Our survival rests on those questions," Ajihad grumbled. "If Galbatorix has reinforced the Urgals with his own soldiers we don't stand a chance, even with two Riders on our side. We'll be overwhelmed."

"He won't have," Brom shook his head. "It's only been two days since Surda fell. His forces wouldn't have reached the mountains in that time, and if he pushed them to do so they'll be dropping on their feet. But he'll probably have sent Durza as the Urgals' commander, and that's trouble we've yet to imagine."

"Where have they gathered?" Murtagh asked curiously. "They must have a base of operations if they've been migrating towards the mountains all year."

"Here," Hrothgar indicated, tapping a spot on the map several leagues from Tronjheim. "It is an abandoned city known as Orthíad, but we suspect the Urgals are calling it 'Ithrö Zhâda' these days. From here they can march directly towards us. The dwarves inside the tunnels this far out are mainly eccentric recluses, so we are fortunate to have received any warning at all."

"That dwarf may have saved us all," Eragon said. "He's a hero."

"_If_ we survive," Brom emphasised sharply. "What do you need for this plan? I personally recommend relocating our new wards to focus upon these three tunnels alone. They'll take a while to break through, giving archers the chance to shoot them down."

"A good idea," Ajihad nodded. "Anything else?"

Harry stroked his somewhat wispy beard thoughtfully. "Describe to me the earth surrounding these tunnels."

Ajihad was puzzled. "Whatever for?"

"If the rock is malleable at all, I can try to force my way below with magic and block their entrance. In short, I could create a makeshift trench hundreds of feet deep, depending on the type of rock. Unless they can jump twenty feet they'll have no chance of getting across. If we douse the entire thing in oil and use magic to set it alight..."

"Excellent!" Jörmundur said, pleased. "That would be a hefty obstacle to conquer, but I suggest you make sure this is possible beforehand."

"I will."

"_Do not_ venture too deeply," Ajihad warned. "There's no telling if you could cause any damage to the city with this action by weakening the tunnels. The entire area is built upon hundreds of them."

"I'll be careful," Harry promised. "I also want to ask permission for leaving Aru behind when this begins."

Aru gave a start on his shoulder, seeming hurt. He looked at him with sparkling eyes. _"Harry?"_

"You can't fight, Aru," Harry said sadly. "You're too young, and I can't fight openly if I'm concerned for you. I'm sure Brom would agree."

"I'm afraid he's right," Brom admitted. "I'm almost hesitant to throw any of these three and Saphira into an open battle themselves, but we have no choice."

"So be it," Ajihad said gravely.

"I must object to this!" Hrothgar said angrily. "We need every chance of victory to be in place, and Harry's dragon could be a lynchpin in this battle!"

"With _all_ due respect," Harry said lowly, "Arucane is still a baby. Would you throw your own child into war, my lord?"

"Of course I wouldn't," Hrothgar replied testily. "But dragons are neither humans, dwarves nor any other creatures known to the world. They are unique and rejoice in killing."

Before Harry could reply, Saphira opened her jaws and unleashed a furious roar directly in their ears, causing him to wince as the sound penetrated his eardrums. It was tough for her to fit inside the study at all, but she somehow managed to stand upright and stretch her wings slightly, imposing her huge frame upon them all. Hrothgar took a step back.

"_Listen to me, _little_ man," _she said with vicious contempt. _"We sons and daughters of the sky take only the same joy your kind do in battle. We experience adrenaline as you do, and feel the need to fight and kill for survival as you do. But, unlike my hunts – which are _still_ for survival – I do not crave blood. I am not a monster. I want peace. Remember that, or maybe I _will _start to thirst for blood. Dwarven blood." _

"Saphira!" Eragon exclaimed, horrified.

"_What?" _Saphira snapped, shifting her gaze to him. _"I won't apologise for that."_

"Enough of this!" Brom roared, calling the heated talk to a halt. "All of you shut your mouths! King or not, I will _not_ tolerate you threatening my charges," Brom told Hrothgar, eyes narrowed.

"That was no threat," Hrothgar retorted. "But I understand your concern... obviously I will not contest Ajihad's decision to leave the younger dragon behind."

"His name is Aru, or Arucane to you," Harry said stiffly. "Please try to remember that in case you annoy him, my _lord." _He felt his respect for the dwarven king drop swiftly with each passing moment in this conversation.

Although Brom sighed, any retorts were stilled as the door behind them was thrust open. Orik entered, followed by Nyos. Harry gagged slightly at the stench of alcohol he brought with him. His appearance was more unkempt than ever, but he seemed... sober? That was strange.

"Good God, man," Harry said drearily. He quickly withdrew his wand and cast _aguamenti _again, before following up with an air-freshening charm he had discovered a while ago.

"My family is dead," Nyos said simply, ignoring him, although his voice cracked noticeably. "I've been mourning them since realising I couldn't scry either my wife or son, but I don't want to hear your condolences!"

He raised his voice at the end, shouting down the utterances of 'sorry' from around the room. "I've been going through hell, but now I know how to avenge them – by killing every single bastard fighting for the king. I won't be touching that drink again. I only want to dine on that son of a whore's bones now."

"Well... I applaud your enthusiasm," Ajihad said hesitantly. "But... I don't know how to respond to that."

"He's kidding," Harry said, rolling his eyes. Why did people have to be so damned slow half of the time?

"I see..."

"No, I'm just _very_ angry," Nyos said, a murderous glint in his eyes. "But I want you to know, Ajihad, that I don't blame you. It wouldn't have made a difference if I had been there, and even if you told me I would never have made it in time. I beg your forgiveness. It was unjust of me to act so rudely before."

"You have it," Ajihad said, inclining his head.

"How the hell are you not drunk?" Murtagh asked suddenly.

"Strong liver."

"You reek of ale!"

"Some idiot spilled his drink over me. In fairness, I didn't _mean_ to concuss him afterwards. I healed him straight after," he added quickly, still dripping water onto the floor.

Hrothgar cleared his throat. "You were a general under the king, were you not?"

"For all of several days, your grace. I was a captain for the most part, fighting for my family's safety," Nyos explained.

"I see. Well, I am sure we can expect you to be of great help in this scenario. Correct?"

Nyos nodded. "I'll fight until my dying breath."

"Jörmundur?" Ajihad asked simply, shooting him a quick glance.

Jörmundur nodded. "I'm sure I could use an experienced officer leading the men into battle, if you're up for the job."

"I'll go wherever you put me, but yes, I can lead men. I may seem crazy at times, but I have a level head in combat and look for the safety of my troops above anything," Nyos said calmly.

"Jörmundur, take him and have him... err... cleaned up," Ajihad said, scrutinising his dirty clothes with a grimace. "Give him equipment, and ensure he can do what he says. If he can, introduce him to the men as a new captain. Then do your best to ready the army itself as quickly as possible. We may not have even four hours."

"Yes, sir!" Jörmundur said, bowing slightly. The two men quickly departed.

"A queer character, that one," Hrothgar said.

"Aye, but a good man, sir," Brom replied with more respect than before. "If there's nothing else I'll take my leave. These three need to get used to wearing and fighting with armour."

"There's something else," Harry said quietly. All eyes turned to him.

"What is it?" Ajihad asked, narrowing his eyebrows at Harry's grave look.

"The civilians. They have to be evacuated. Now."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that," Hrothgar said, shaking his head. "They could not reach any of my kin's cities before battle is joined, and if we lose they would be run down by the Urgals."

"You misunderstand, your grace," Harry said, struggling with the last two words. "This war has yet to fully kick itself off. Surda has been all but crushed except for small pockets of resistance, and King Orrin is dead. Galbatorix will concentrate upon these mountains solely now that he controls everything from Aberon to Gil'ead. That leaves only one safe harbour in the entire land, and even it won't be safe for very long if we fall here tonight: Du Weldenvarden."

"What are you suggesting?" Hrothgar asked, frowning.

"We only have one chance for survival," Harry declared clearly. He took in the faces around him, wondering how this was going to go down. "We have to evacuate everyone – and I mean _everyone_, not just those in Tronjheim – to the north. The forest is the best place for them."

"You've got to be joking!" Hrothgar exclaimed. "My kind would never consent to this! It's absurd!"

"Absurdity is an abstract term for describing what you can't comprehend," Harry retorted. "You know, I know, and everybody here knows that if we remain, the king will wipe us out. But with the elven wards we have a chance to survive a little longer. We _have_ to leave. It's not an option. Your race has to throw aside their petty squabbles and fight as one, my lord. You can either band together and make a decision, or be destroyed. There are no other choices. If we stay here we _will_ die."

"I'm afraid my queen could not accommodate you all," Arya said lowly, speaking for the first time. "Your people are too many for us to maintain. If you were to travel to Du Weldenvarden, you would have to find a suitable location to create new homes for yourselves. We would have no objections to that course of action, however."

Harry shared an understanding look with Brom, who nodded at him slowly.

"Ajihad," he said, "if we win this battle I'm taking Eragon, Harry and the egg and getting the hell out of here. I know for a fact Harry is damned right in what he's saying, even if you don't want to admit it. Staying here borders on the suicidal and clinically insane in the grand scheme of things. Galbatorix could storm this mountain single-handedly if Durza fails and annihilate us without any trouble whatsoever. He _cannot_ breach the elven wards, meanwhile. The Varden has to leave or pay the price."

"You would withdraw your support?" Ajihad asked, seeming disappointed.

"Of course not. I have to leave anyway. These two have to be trained by the elves – there's only so much I can do. That, and the egg must be taken somewhere safe. Where is safer than Ellesméra? Can either of you think of an alternative solution?" he asked both Ajihad and Hrothgar together, the two of whom shared a glance.

"I don't believe we could," Ajihad sighed. "But this will take a lot of work. The elves won't do anything if they don't know Arya is safe, and the dwarven clans will try to oppose this at every turn."

"You have to make decisions for your own people," Brom said pointedly. "Hrothgar, if the dwarves choose to stay here, which is wholly your right, of course, then you're on your own. We won't stand for anymore lollygagging – you're either with us, or you're a part of the problem."

Harry realised suddenly that Brom was using his plan. He and Ajihad were trying to convince Hrothgar to usurp the clans! Oh, this could turn very nasty if they weren't careful...

Hrothgar cracked his knuckles irritably. "I'll confer with the clans to consider this, but it will have to wait until-"

"No! You have to _tell _them!" Brom said furiously.

Harry knew that was the most undemocratic thing he had ever heard, but it was necessary for the time being. He shuddered as he thought of politics. True, he knew little about those in the Muggle world, but he _did_ know about dictatorships. Everybody on Earth did. These people obviously did not understand how absolutism would lead to another Galbatorix, even if Hrothgar wasn't an evil person. He would have to make sure this line of thinking was severely limited, in case anything unjust was to happen.

"Brom, I can't distort centuries of tradition on a whim! If I try to command them to do anything I'll lose this crown so quickly it'll make my head spin. I support your decision to leave, but the dwarves will have to wait a little longer. That's my final word," Hrothgar declared in a tone that booked no argument.

Ajihad sighed. "Very well, your grace. I hope you know what you're doing. Brom, I consent to this plan. Relay a message to Nasuada if you would. She's to be in charge of this exodus. The people are only to take what they need to survive, and are to start evacuating immediately. We have no time to waste. Also tell her if both you and I are to fall she will take temporary control of the Varden until the queen can help choose someone permanent."

Brom frowned at that. "Are you sure she's capable?"

"Certain."

"Very well," Brom nodded. "Write me a note. You three, come along," he said, indicating Harry, Eragon and Murtagh.

Brom led them to the Varden's primary armoury after sending a messenger to deliver Ajihad's note to Nasuada. What they saw nearby was simply incredible. Hundreds of warriors were frantically dressing themselves in layers of thick, steel armour and snatching a hoard of deadly iron-forged swords for men, and axes for dwarves. Harry didn't know much about armour, but what they wore appeared to be heavy, cumbersome and ultimately tiring. But it also provided the finest protection available. The warriors quickly fell into formation at the direction of their captains, before moving out to barricade the city and man their positions inside the fortress blocking the civilians from the tunnels.

"Brom, what of enemy magicians?" Murtagh asked uncertainly. "How do I fight them if they only need to wave their hand and roast me alive?"

"I'll deal with that," Brom said dismissively, absent-mindedly rubbing the ring he wore. "You three will all be kept alongside me in this combat, although separation is inevitable. If that happens don't panic. Remember your training, keep a level head, and fight as defensively as possible. Don't make any rash decisions that could cost you your life. And for the sake of the gods, Eragon, Harry, _don't_ expand your energy by using magic continuously. Harry, do you have a plan for that wand? You can't carry it, a sword and shield into battle at once."

"I had an idea," Harry said, swiftly walking to keep up. They stepped around contingents of foot soldiers and archers alike; Brom appeared to be searching for someone in particular. "If I attach it to my left underarm with magic it'll be protected by the shield, then all I have to do is point my arm to cast."

"Watch your instep," Brom warned. "Your shield will be away from your body when you straighten your arm."

"I will."

"Who takes care of collapsing the tunnels?" Murtagh asked.

"Eragon, you help Arya with that once we have you fitted for armour," Brom ordered. "Harry, I want Du Vrangr Gata where you think they should be. It's your decision to make."

"Right," Harry nodded. He opened the link he had established with Trianna yesterday. Their time together had been greatly enjoyable, although he hadn't attempted to show too much interest too quickly. She had showed him various places around the city, including the dwarven library, and had introduced him to the cadre of magicians who would be under his command. It had been tough going, earning their trust, but a small display of the patronus charm and his prowess with the Ancient Language had been enough to win over their trust.

"_Trianna? Can you hear me?"_

"_Yes, Harry. What's happening?"_

"_We're going to be attacked by an Urgal army sometime soon," _he said, and she radiated worry and confusion in reply. _"I want you to organise the outfit the way we planned – half for combat, half for healing, based on their strengths. Each one fighting will be assigned a company to guard, and the healers will be kept in reserve, away from the front lines. They'll be attacking the three dominant tunnels leading to the outside of Farthen Dur."_

"_Understood. What about you?"_ she asked with concern.

Harry hesitated. _"I'll go where they put me,"_ he said simply. _"Aru won't be fighting, so he can stay with you if there are no objections."_

"_With me?"_

"_You're the best healer we have. You can do more good there than anywhere near the vanguard," _Harry said firmly. He didn't want her to get hurt either, but that wasn't something to repeat. She would think he believed her weak and make the decision for herself. As it stood, she wasn't happy about it, but agreed reluctantly.

"_Good." _Harry looked at Arucane, studying the little green dragon closely. He wasn't much larger than a dog at this point. Holding him on his shoulder wasn't even strenuous, which meant he was far too small to be involved with any fighting. Harry asked gently: _"can you go and find Trianna?"_

Aru looked back at him, and gave a nod. He was beginning to string together longer sentences than before, but it was still an ongoing task. _"Yes. I can give her some of my power to help. Then I can be of use."_

Harry smiled, feeling their connection grow even stronger. _"Thank you, my friend... as long as you're safe I'll be happy."_

"_The same goes for you. If you are hurt I'll run into battle and kill them all until I find you. Did you mean what you said?"_

"_What's that?" _Harry asked curiously.

"_That you think of me like family?"_

Harry remembered suddenly what he had said to Hrothgar about 'his own child'. He hadn't even meant to say it, but it did come naturally, and he sure as hell meant it. _"Of course I did. I care about you... it would break my heart to lose you."_

Aru nuzzled his shoulder gently with his head, before perching himself on Harry's arm and leaping off. He spread his wings in mid-air and began to glide towards Trianna's presence. The army appeared heartened to see him, and even more so Saphira, who flew impressively high above. Aru gave a miniature roar, and Saphira responded by bellowing confidence into the hearts of those present. Harry smiled at the pair of them.

* * *

For the first time in his life, Harry truly felt like a knight from Merlin's time. Then again, he had never been dressed this way before. Brom had led them to a blacksmith's for the army, whom he had instructed to set aside some fine armour for the four of them. The choices weren't great, but they were accepted without complaint. He, Eragon and Murtagh were now garbed in the sturdiest plate armour the Varden could muster, atop a thin coat of chainmail. On their heads rested open-faced steel helms, although that was reinforcing two additional layers consisting of a matching coif for the pre-mentioned chainmail, and a leather cap to add a little additional comfort. That being said, this stuff must have added at least forty pounds to their total weight, a severely limiting factor.

That wasn't the end of it, either. Iron bracers and thick, leather greaves were an additional feature, as were the mail-backed gloves. Metal leggings were out of the question for the sake of manoeuvrability. Finally, they were handed a round shield each. Harry used a sticking charm on his left arm, and then attached his wand so that it was facing down towards his hand. It was unusual, but he would get used to it soon enough. He reinforced this with a leather strap that twisted tightly around his forearm several times before culminating in a metallic catch, ensuring it couldn't move but with his own muscles. The shield had a smooth, outlaid handle attached to the inside, with indents for the fingers to clench tightly and sported an exterior emblazoned with an oak tree. That done, he had to admit he looked damned intimidating with Aiedail strapped around his waist.

"Very impressive," Brom grinned, nodding in appreciation at the trio, all three similarly garbed. He himself was wearing a lighter selection, focusing primarily on the leather and discarding the helm entirely.

"Won't you be an open target?" Harry questioned, worried. He knew lightening charms would have a negative effect in this case - the body would be unable to comprehend its own agility due to the sheer weight of the magic, and that could have permanent effects upon his muscles. It was, ironically, the weight or sink.

Brom tapped his temple with an armoured forefinger. "Trust me on this, Harry. If they can hit me, they deserve to. Boys, or should I say 'men'... remember your training. I've taught you all I know. Don't be afraid to fight dirty, because the Urgals will all do the same. Eragon, I recommend fighting alongside Saphira. You won't be able to reach most enemies riding her. You and Harry are powerful magicians, so you'll be called upon by others to help out at times. Respond to orders immediately if you can, but all three of you use your initiative. Keep your heads level, and _don't take chances."_

They nodded obediently, and not for the first time Harry was glad Brom would be there to help.

"Brom, this feels a little loose," Murtagh said, twisting his shoulders.

"Get it seen to," he said, and Murtagh went to speak with the blacksmith. "Eragon. Harry. A word."

Brom led them outside the makeshift tent. The din was simply incredible. Four thousand humans and over five thousand dwarves scurried to and fro across the open areas between Farthen Dur and the tunnels, relaying messages and carrying weapons. The clanking of metallic armour was deafening. When they found a secluded spot nearby, Brom looked at them closely.

"What I am about to tell you is information that _cannot_ extend beyond the two of you, until I see fit to tell the third Rider as well. Understood?"

"Of course."

"Yeah."

"Okay, then... there are a dozen words I want you to memorise before this battle begins, and they could save your lives _if_ you employ them correctly. As you both know, the enemy will be warded by their personal magicians, as will our own forces. I don't want you to concern yourselves with that. You need to hold your power in reserve for fighting, especially if that red-headed terror shows himself.

"What you need to know is that these wards must be overcome before the Ancient Language is effective. Harry, you have an obvious advantage here," he stated, and Harry nodded. "But still, the wards may still deflect or weaken your spells significantly, so take care. In order for the Ancient Language to be of use, those wards must be destroyed. I've taught you both a little about mental combat, but not as much as I would have hoped. Use that. Defend your minds. Going for the source is the easiest way to disrupt the wards. If you kill the magicians, you can destroy the Urgals they protect with ease."

"How?" Harry asked, shrugging his shoulders. "Unless you expect us to use up all of our energy-"

"That won't be necessary," Brom quietly interrupted. He hesitated. "What I am about to teach you are twelve spells. They are known as the 'spells of death' as they kill without any noticeable drain on your magical reserves. I'll explain why later. All you need are the words, and then you can kill each Urgal simultaneously by attacking their minds with the spell. An even easier solution is to cast the magic at the magician himself, and the minds he is connected with will also die."

"Why didn't you tell us about these words sooner?" Eragon demanded.

"There was no need," Brom said flatly. "As Harry would tell you, respecting life is important. You can't kill with such ease without learning the difficult methods beforehand or else you may take it for granted."

"I would never do that," Eragon said quietly. "And nor would Harry."

"It doesn't matter any longer," Brom said, shaking his head. "In a battle like this you have to kill with as little energy as possible. So, here are the words."

After Brom had mentally relayed the words to the both of them and ensured they would remember each one, they returned to Murtagh and the blacksmith.

"Ah! I almost forgot," the burly blacksmith said quickly. "That dwarf Orik left this for you. Said it was a gift from his king."

"What is it?" Murtagh asked, examining the rows of metal plates upon a nearby table.

"It's dragon armour," Eragon realised. _"Saphira!"_

"_I'm here," _she said immediately, landing outside. Even dragons seemed to appreciate fine tools of war. With help from Brom, Eragon began to attach the armour, a difficult task. It left her spikes and legs bare, but covered her torso, tail and most of her head.

"How do you feel?" Harry asked Murtagh quietly, watching the pair.

"Like I'm ready to prove myself," Murtagh replied. They looked at each other, and then clasped arms, earning a clink of metal. "Good luck, my friend. May we all still be standing by tomorrow morning."

"And you," Harry nodded.

* * *

An explosion shook the ground nearby, and the forces of the Varden were startled, already being on-edge.

"What the hell was that?!" Brom demanded, running over towards the source of the noise.

"Apparently a _bombarda _spell makes a lot of noise when it collides with solid rock," Harry frowned. "I hadn't expected that."

"I said 'block the tunnels', not blow a hole in the damned mountain!"

"I'm being careful," Harry protested. "Eragon's method wasn't as effective as we'd hoped."

"Brom, report!" Jörmundur shouted, running to their position frantically.

"False alarm," Brom said, waving a dismissive hand. "Rest easy."

Jörmundur rolled his eyes, panting for breath. Muttering to himself, he turned and walked back to his battalion. The army had been divided into three, one for each tunnel, led by Ajihad, Hrothgar and Jörmundur respectively. Each held a mixture of dwarves and humans alike, armed with swords, axes and warhammers and sporting thick hauberks and plated chests.

"How many more are there to collapse?" Brom asked impatiently.

"That was the last one," Eragon told him.

"Good. Harry, get working on that trench of yours. Eragon, you and Saphira go and get food. I've left some out over there," he said, pointing.

Eragon followed his directions and walked towards a tent a little away. It was unusual, seeing such a huge assortment of soldiers gathered together, but being able to distantly see a mass exodus from the city into the valleys to the east simultaneously. They would head through the mountain range, led by Nasuada, Ajihad's daughter, and any dwarven warriors they happened to join from other cities. They looked understandably forlorn.

"Stand back," Harry instructed. When Brom did so, he pointed his arm several feet in front of him. _"Diffindo!"_

He poured more wand-fuelled energy into the spell than ever before, allowing it to crack the rock beneath his feet with relative ease. After splitting it into a semicircular shape hundreds of metres long in full view of all three tunnels, he slowly began to excavate, before thinking of a much simpler solution. Shutting his eyes, he focused on an all-new level of power and concentration known only to him since becoming a Dragon Rider, and reached for the magic at his core. He waved his wand in a complicated series of poses, and was privy to a series of astonished cries from the gathered men.

Opening his eyes, he grinned, finding that the massive chunk of rock he had levitated out from the trench had vanished, banished by a simple spell amplified to increase its effective power dramatically. It had used up some of the energy absorbed from Galbatorix's wards, but it had been worth it.

Brom's eyes were wider than Harry had ever seen them. "H-how deep is that trench?" he asked, staring into the crevasse anxiously.

"About two hundred feet," Harry told him. "I hit some harder material down there I couldn't dig past. Volcanoes tend to have solidified lava beneath them. It could be that, or some type of metal. Whatever the case, this is as far as I can go without putting the city in jeopardy."

"Excellent work," declared a deep voice. Harry looked around to find Ajihad standing there, fully armoured and carrying an ivory sword. He nodded in thanks.

"It'll keep them at bay for a while. It's rounded towards the cliff base so they can't escape around it. They have to go over it. It's a pity it can't be wider than ten feet. Any more than that and the entire area could sink into the earth," Harry declared.

"I understand," Ajihad said. "This fight was always going to be won with swords, I daresay. I'll have my men set it alight now. Are Du Vrangr Gata in place?"

"Yes. Half for the army, half for treating the wounded."

"Is that wise?" Ajihad quickly asked.

"Most aren't real fighters at all. They would only get themselves killed, and we'd be several healers fewer," Harry explained.

"Very well. The twins are to be relaying information to you and Eragon from me, and so on. If you find _anything_ unusual report it immediately. One is inside the dragonhold, observing the action."

"I'd rather have them fighting down her," Harry said unhappily. "As much as I dislike them, both are more powerful than any member of Du Vrangr Gata by far."

"Regardless, this is where they are," Ajihad said firmly. "Gentlemen, I suggest you prepare yourselves. Oh, your friend is leading a company in my battalion. He will be a great commander." He gave both a quick nod, before walking back towards the centre.

"I wonder how that'll turn out," Harry muttered, raising his eyebrows.

"At this rate he'll be bloodthirsty," Brom replied. "I'll keep an eye out for him to make sure he isn't planning to kill everything in sight bare-handed, but I can't make any promises. He's a trained soldier. We all have to look out for ourselves and the ones around us. Which reminds me..."

Harry felt a surge of magical energy wash over him as Brom's mind connected with his own ever so briefly. He blinked. "What was that?"

"That, Harry, was me placing wards around you. I'll be doing the same for Eragon and Murtagh."

"But you don't have the strength for that!" Harry exclaimed.

"Don't concern yourself with me," Brom winked, astounding Harry. "This ring is named Aren. It was forged by the elves specially to hold vast amounts of power, like many crystals of the world. In my self-imposed exile I stored every last drop of power I could muster into its core each day, and now the extent of its energy is great."

"I didn't know you could store energy in crystals," Harry admitted, gazing at the sapphire. "My wand, sure... but that's impressive. Yet, how is that enough, in any case?"

"You'd be surprised at how much power can be spent after a hard day's work," Brom told him seriously. "By sitting on my ass all day I was able to spend that on the ring instead."

Harry laughed.

"_Harry, I'm in position with a group of healers," _came Trianna's voice. _"Aru is here with me, ready to help."_

"_I'm glad to hear it," _Harry said honestly. _"Be careful."_

"_You too_," Trianna said softly, and he received a mental image of her kissing him fiercely, causing him to blush. She laughed through the connection. _"If we survive this you can experience that for real."_

Harry stammered his thanks and ended the connection. He saw that Eragon had now rejoined them, accompanied by Arya. He cleared this throat to stifle the embarrassment. "Du Vrangr Gata is in position and awaiting orders. I think that's just about everything now."

"Almost," Eragon intoned, nodding towards the trench. Harry looked around and saw several dozen warriors douse the edges with oil, before casting a brief spell to set it on fire. He felt his face grow flushed from the heat as the flames rapidly spread, and the crackling of magical energy told him, to his relief, that the supersensory charm was finally working as it was supposed to.

Harry looked back. "I'm glad you're with us," he told Arya politely. "Maybe now you can finally see my abilities and call it your 'test'."

The ghost of a smile lifted her lips. "Maybe. But I doubt I will be able to watch out for you. If Durza appears he will want my head this time for escaping his grasp."

"Don't worry; he has to get through all of us first," Eragon said gently.

"And yet I must fight him," Arya declared, a fire in her slanted eyes that Harry hadn't seen before. It looked even more impressive with the flames behind him reflecting them as a mixture of green and orange. She looked determined, frightening even, given her regal blade and bow strapped across her armoured back.

"It could be too dangerous," Eragon warned, obviously concerned for her wellbeing.

"Who else can fight him?" Arya demanded. "I am not one of your weak females, human. I must kill him. It is my right, and a right no other can lay claim to. Would you deny me that privilege?"

Harry chuckled, causing her to look at him. He drew his sword and twirled it around, finding the whirling sounds of metal passing by his ears strangely comforting. He would have to kill untold amounts of the Urgals, and he looked forward to ending their miserable lives. For the safety of the innocent people fleeing, and Alagaësia in itself, it had to be done. And that also meant putting a sword through that bastard's heart.

"If you want to kill Durza, get in line, princess. If I find him... I'm taking him down, one way or another," Harry declared.

"Follow me," Brom ordered. "We need to fall in. Good fortune upon you all."

Above the assembled entourage of troops, Saphira bellowed out her challenge to the hidden, approaching Urgal army, and the soldiers raised their swords and shields, shouting incoherent insults at the top of their voices and screaming for the Varden. Sigils were waved frantically in the air.

_We're not alone, _Harry thought whilst observing them, the light of fortitude in his mind. _Let's do this. _


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Chapter Twenty One – Remember Brom**

* * *

A gentle breeze arched its way across the ground, lifting and swirling a modicum of dust in the stilled air. No one paid it any heed. Harry stood, eyes narrowed in concentration and glasses stuck to his face with a simple charm, in the midst of Ajihad's central battalion, awaiting the inevitable. Around the scattered warriors of the Varden heartbeats could be almost heard, and every breath drawn in was done so with a mixture of fear and hatred towards their enemy. Brom stood to his left and Eragon to his right. Further down the line he could see Arya, while Murtagh was closer to the left flank. Orik was under Hrothgar's command, and thus was not nearby.

In the distance, echoing through the tunnels, he could hear the clinking and clanking of steel boots on rock.

"This is it!" Ajihad shouted from the front, roaring to be heard by one and all. "We are the last line of defence for our families! Give them no quarter, no mercy! Fight for your homes, for your freedom as men of Alagaësia! For peace! Kill them all!"

As one, the warriors of the Varden raised their swords and loosed a deafening war cry. Harry may have emptied his lungs dry, such was his motivation. He knew that despite their hidden traps in the tunnels and flaming trench, still illuminating an entire area otherwise shrouded in darkness, the Urgals would break through. They would have Kull – the elite, powerful warriors of their kind – with them, and Durza would be their commander. Every ounce of courage would be a prerequisite, every drop of strength a necessity.

It was time to fight for life itself.

He suddenly felt a twinge in his mind, which meant that the Urgals had breached his attempted wards in the tunnels already. He wasn't surprised. Spells like 'salvio hexia'? There was no real expectation for them to be useful, and that also meant...

Inhumane screams and roars of pain filled the air as Brom's magical traps detonated like bombs, spraying the monsters in showers of the acid Angela had developed. Harry grimaced as he thought of her words. 'Flesh-dissolving'.

"Don't let it concern you," came a soft voice from behind him. He looked around, only to find Angela herself, armoured lightly and carrying a mysterious, graceful weapon. It looked like a sword-staff hybrid, with a finely whittled oaken grip large enough to accommodate both hands comfortably, and two deadly blades on either end.

Harry smiled grimly, before looking back. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?"

"You can't keep me away from the centre of things," Angela replied calmly. "Nor Solembum, but he's currently disguised as a young boy in Jörmundur's regiment. He thought that section was less guarded."

"My wards were useless, so get ready," Harry informed her abruptly.

The clanking of metal had been impaired somewhat by Brom's trap, but it had now resumed louder than ever before.

"Now!" Ajihad shouted.

Several groups of warriors lit on fire the cauldrons of pitch they stood beside and then tilted them sideways, so that the scorching hot liquid was emptied onto the Urgals from above. More choking cries could be heard, and Harry couldn't fight back a grimace. If he had only known more about wards or magical traps he could have helped, but short of silly pranks, there was nothing even remotely combat-effective in his arsenal. Apparently half-assing with the Weasleys instead of taking Hermione seriously had come with a massive price. He vowed to right that wrong in the future... if he made it out of here alive.

His hand tightened as Urgals began to stream from the tunnels, all pretence abandoned. They broke any regular formation and began to run towards the Varden, roaring for all their worth. Harry was relieved to see none could jump his magical pit, however, and the fire was deterring. The Urgals faltered, and those who stopped were immediately picked off by archers, who were skilled and aimed for the neck. Those who continued to run tried to leap the gap, but even if they jumped the distance, they could only cling to the edge, which promptly set them alight, before sliding down into the depths, screaming in agony.

"Clear a space," Harry ordered loudly. He had purposefully told Brom to choose a spot near the front, despite the risks that came with such a decision. The warriors near him separated, giving him room to work with. Harry raised his left arm, screwing his face up in determination.

"_Expulso!" _

One bone-jarring bang later and any Urgal in sight had been obliterated, their entrails scattering across the area with sickening thuds. Harry continued this process as the monsters continued to rampage through the tunnel opening – this was the true, horrible beauty of his trap. The trench itself was insignificant. In this case, he and the archers had them caught in a deadly crossfire, and subsequently rained down a barrage of barbed arrows and spells, cutting their ranks significantly.

It wouldn't work forever, of course. Sooner or later something would manage to break through. It had to give eventually, simply because it seemed far too easy for anyone's liking. This ultimately proved true when Harry fired one too many spells at the area, and a reasonably powerful Urgal magician was able to deflect the blast away from the enemy vanguard. The effort cost him his life, but he still directed it into the ground in the middle of both armies, severing all lines of sight as a cloud of dust was spawned.

A little dust got into Harry's good eye, and he was forced to hesitate from the sudden pain. After shaking it out, he immediately took aim and fired again, but his bearings were off. He missed the main contingent of Urgals by feet only, and in those few seconds one of their spell weavers was able to extinguish the fires before them and block the hole with the rocks from Harry's first missed spell. Harry swore violently as the Urgals began to swarm across the makeshift bridge, which didn't falter under their substantial weight.

"Brom!" he shouted frantically, looking back.

The old man nodded and relayed an immediate order to the magicians in their general area. A great 'whoosh' was heard from the battlefield, and the Urgals were halted in their tracks. These were the wards Arya had managed to redirect from around Tronjheim to the tunnel mouths, and now they trapped the Urgals like rats in a maze.

"Archers!" Ajihad screamed above the creatures' roars of fury.

The rear ranks hefted their bows and unleashed a volley of buzzing bolts above the heads of the sword and spearmen at their front; the arrows fell through the air and buried themselves in the general area of the brutish creatures, felling dozens in one swoop, such was their inability to so much as move a muscle. Harry was unable to join his efforts together with them, as these wards were all-encompassing and designed especially to keep out magic of all kinds. If he destabilised them by accident it wouldn't end well.

It was frustrating, but he had to accept it.

The Urgals, however, could also play at that game. Their bowmen finally found their marks, and began to return fire with glee, dropping men left, right and centre. Harry watched in horror as an arrow flew directly for him, and barely responded by raising his shield at the last possible moment. The tip embedded itself in the shield, and he snapped the shaft in half with a snarl, throwing it to the ground.

Eragon felt his heart pounding as he watched the scene unfold. He was firing arrows at will, and had scored at least four or five hits. Harry's and Brom's plan had been truly ingenious, and was giving the Varden a serious advantage. Besides several taken down by sporadic ranged fire, they hadn't been so much as dented yet, whereas the Urgals had lost at least several hundred of their Kull already. He growled and fired directly at one of the monsters closest the front, hitting it between the eyes with a soft flump. The protection of the Varden was his fire, Yazuac was his fuel, his friends' safety his motivation.

Saphira was almost tempted to fly into the fray and slaughter the creatures from above, but she had been forbidden in advance. It would make her a prime target, armour or no armour, and there was every chance she could sustain a serious injury. She settled for opening her jaws and yelling as loud as possible, heartening the allied army into redoubling their efforts. The archers fired as rapidly as they could, the Urgals simply unable to break down the wards before them.

The defences were much too powerful for even Brom, Angela and Arya together to have conjured, so Harry greatly suspected he had used a large portion of Aren's energy for the task.

"There's no end to them!" Eragon exclaimed, as more continued to charge from the tunnels. No matter how many they slew, another two took its place. That's when he realised something. Eragon paused in the act of nocking another arrow to stare, wide-eyed, at what was occurring. The strongest, thickest Kull were banding together and charging the invisible barrier, butting it with their horns viciously. He saw a flicker of energy and knew they were beginning to falter.

"_Oh, shit,"_ Harry thought, also noticing the disturbance. _"Aru, tell Trianna to get ready. We're going to have wounded." _

"_Be safe, Harry..." _

With one ferocious lunge the barrier vanished. The Urgals seemed surprised at their success, but were able to form a passable front line and began to charge the three battalions, shouting in their hoarse voices. Harry couldn't risk further explosive spells – there were simply too many Urgals to stop at once, so the only result would be a blinding of the Varden's vanguard. Instead, he tightened his grip around Aiedail and took a few deep breaths as the warriors in front of him quickly reformed their lines.

"If any man of you attempts to retreat, I'll gut you myself," Brom declared fiercely. "Now, spears!"

At the last, the front line raised their mixture of pikes and speared weapons, roaring in the face of their enemy. The Urgals did not hesitate in the slightest. They ran full pelt at what would be some of their deaths, and crashed into the unit with a thud that almost forced Harry a step backwards, despite his being in the fourth line from the front. Then, all went to hell.

Urgals were scrambling to their feet, having crashed over before their eyes, and promptly throwing themselves at the battalion with a fiery and horrific brutality. Men were savaged before their very eyes with broadswords cleaving skulls and horns ripping out intestines in the frenzy. Harry shouted his war cry again as the first of the abominations reached him and raised his shield to block its powerful front swing. The impact was bone-jarring, but he paid it no mind and hastily retaliated with a lunge, burying his sword deep within its sternum. He twisted the blade and withdrew it with a grunt. The Urgal fell dead at his feet, as Aiedail gleamed with a blinding red glow.

A massive Kull charged him, swinging a blood-stained axe above its head and baring its yellowed teeth. Their lack of speed would be their true undoing, Harry knew. Before it could even bring the weapon down, his sword was embedded between its collar and cheek bones. When he removed it the spurt of blood was truly relentless, and he sidestepped to avoid getting any in his eyes. Beside him, Eragon swiftly cleaved his opponent's head in two across the centre, and stabbed another in the chest from behind.

Warriors up and down the ranks were now embroiled in frequent melee bouts, whilst the rearmost soldiers held ready to relieve the fallen and prevent any from breaking through. Archers lining the fortress walls continued to impose themselves upon any who dared break through, although they tended to be inaccurate out of fear of hitting their comrades. Several began to take losses as Urgal crossbowmen retaliated by sending poisoned bolts through their chests and stomachs from long-range.

Harry spun as his supersensory charm kicked into action immediately and whipped his shield around in a half-circle, catching his opponent in the face with an almighty crash that knocked it off-balance. Without hesitation, he stabbed it in the back of the neck and quickly removed the blade to parry another from the opposite side.

Brom was embroiled in a ferocious contest with three simultaneously. Knowing the old Rider's antics, Harry was unsurprised to see him use the terrain to his advantage by forcing his adversaries to trip and fall over any rocks that happened to be nearby, before casually dispatching them and moving to the next.

That had all occurred in the blink of an eye. Everything was sped up tenfold, and he was barely aware of Saphira roaring and swatting foes aside like flies, so concerned was he with his own surroundings. The charm let off an emergency wail inside his mind, and he rapidly threw the shield behind his head by bending his arm backwards, halting an arrow that had been gunning for the top of his neck. Growling in fury, Harry rolled to his left as an Urgal took a swing at him with a mighty hammer, and jumped up, spinning around. The blow was a swift one, and its head slowly slid off its shoulders and fell to the ground with the satisfying swish of steel slicing through flesh.

"Saphira, put out your right forearm," Angela shouted. Saphira obliged and watched as the surprisingly athletic fortune teller ran and vaulted off of her paw into the air, before falling to the ground in a corkscrew of spinning steel. Her Hûthvír seemed to scream in delight through her descent as she landed between a group of four unsuspecting Kull, all of whom fell to the ground together, minus a head each.

Eragon grinned his approval and continued to cut his way through the never-ending horde of eight-foot Kull before him, angling towards Arya. Without speaking, they stood back to back and began to fight together, twisting and spinning, almost able to feel rather than see the other's movements. Arya ducked and Eragon instinctively whirled around, decapitating the foe who had been too close for her to stab. Eragon stepped to the right and she, feeling his shift in position, reversed her blade and plunged it into the torso of the Urgal who had attacked him from an angle too narrow to defend against. Both ducked at once and Saphira whipped her tail at the six who had surrounded them, sending them packing into their comrades.

"Jierda!" Eragon shouted. The Urgal who had been about to attack Saphira's tail with a two-handed axe felt his neck snap. Eragon was enraged at their attempt to maim the partner of his heart. Conscious of the adrenaline rush, he roared in fury and ran at the nearest group of Urgals, slicing and parrying his way through, one at a time. He was dimly aware of Harry casting several _sectumsempra _and _diffindo _curses in his aid from several metres away.

Harry turned from Eragon, who was bloodthirsty, to deal with the Urgal magician attempting to accost his mind. Harry grinned over at him.

"Let me help you with that," he said, opening his mind. The Urgal foolishly ventured inside, and Harry retaliated immediately by exerting a massive force upon its own sanctuary, pouring his essence into the mental blast of raw magic. The Urgal screamed, its face contorting into an unrecognizable heap of agony as it melted inside its own armour. Harry saw with a gleam of joy that a group of around thirty of its kin fell dead after it had, prompting cheers from the Varden warriors they had been embroiled in combat with.

Harry began to get caught-up in the action wholly; the blood was pumping in his ears, and he yearned for his enemies' blood to flow before him. Conscious of this determination and the little room obtained from killing that enemy magician, he began to cast severing and bone-breaking curses at anything he could see that wasn't friendly. He refrained from using the killing curse, as these carried the same effect and didn't disgust him quite as much.

Ironic, considering the ends he delivered with them were far less pretty. Perhaps it was the knowledge of what the killing curse had been used for that stayed his hand.

In the corner of his eye, Harry saw Brom stumble to the ground and panicked. With a roar, he scrambled to his position and plunged his sword through both sides of the Urgal who had been about to finish him.

"Harry, look out!" Brom shouted.

It was too late.

Harry's face contorted as an arrow struck his outstretched arm. With an aggrieved growl he quickly jolted it away and tore the archer to bloody ribbons with a powerful cutting curse.

"Damn it," Harry muttered.

"Heads up!"

Harry ducked as a sideways swipe aimed for his head was inbound, and felt it sail over his head with relief. The supersensory charm wasn't immediate, but it could be pretty damned close. Before he could react, however, Brom was on his feet and stabbing the Urgal to death with a dagger he had hidden next to his bracers, tearing its throat asunder.

With a grunt of pain, Harry snapped the arrow in half and pulled it out. Thankfully, the barb hadn't penetrated his skin, but the armour was dented inwards near his wrist. It hurt like hellfire and damnation itself, and he was sure to be black and blue come the morning.

"I'm sorry," Brom said faintly, panting. "I had to take energy from the wards or I would have been killed."

Harry waved his hand dismissively. He pointed over towards Angela with his sword. "Go and help her, if you can! I'll heal myself."

Not even conscious of taking orders from Harry – he was a comrade in arms, not an underling – Brom nodded and moved off as fast as his legs would allow him. Age had definitely caught up with him by now, and he hated the feeling. His energy was in rapid decline, even when one considered Aren.

"Waíse heill," Harry muttered quickly, and the throbbing subsided almost immediately, although it did still twinge a little. He looked up. "Oh, shit!"

Without so much as blinking, he ducked under the warhammer that swung for his cranimu and used his legs to sweep the Urgal's feet out from under it. Before he could kill it, however, a spear was thrust through its skull, resulting in a horrific sound of bone cracking. Harry looked up to find Murtagh riding Tornac, who reared as Murtagh withdrew the spear. He threw it at an approaching Kull with a grunt and caught him directly in the eye, an instant kill.

Murtagh quickly dismounted and Harry accepted his hand up. "Go, Tornac!" Murtagh shouted, hitting the horse's flank sharply and removing his hand-and-a-half sword from across his back. "Get out of here!"

With a cry, the horse quickly galloped back towards Tronjheim, out of harm's way. There was no time for chatting, though; within seconds the pair of them was set upon by an entire squad of the deformed wretches, and both were struggling to overcome what was clearly a much more organised unit. Dealing with Harry, to their detriment, proved to be a massive pain in the ass; when they foolishly backed off, spears and swords daring them to attack, he rolled his eyes and blew them to smithereens with a simple wave of his wand.

The sounds of metal on metal were plentiful in the air, as were cries for blood and screams of agony and terror. The ground around Eragon was littered with the dead from both sides, although the Urgals' first offensive had been broken apart in the main. That was partially due to the culmination of Harry, Brom and his partnership with Arya and Saphira, however. He quickly realised Angela had been fully right in saying Jörmundur and Hrothgar didn't have the type of firepower Ajihad did in this battle, and thus the two flanks were suffering heinously. Varden warriors were being cut down in droves, whilst the Kull rampaged like wolves among the sheep.

"_Eragon, you're to relieve Hrothgar. The battle goes badly for him," _one of the twins relayed.

Eragon had already been on his way when the message was delivered. Sword in-hand, he sprinted towards the right flank, a furious scowl on his face, and hastily dove into combat, flowing from one Urgal to the next as Zar'roc took delight in his lust for action. He was driven by a furious motivation to protect those around him, and dismembered any Urgal he came across with the utmost ease. He hacked and slashed, parried and blocked...

Hrothgar himself was an immensely gifted warrior, his golden armour glittering as his mighty hammer crushed breastplates and skulls with the speed of a hurricane. He nodded at Eragon in appreciation, before turning to dispatch no fewer than four Kull at the one time. Eragon maintained his posture of attacking first, since he still had the element of surprise.

In the background, Saphira roared.

Eragon doubled up in pain, feeling as though his left calf was on fire. His eyes watered through the agony and his legs buckled. A massive Kull, standing at least eight foot tall, towered over him, grinning down with horrific black teeth. It raised its sword. Eragon felt slow and heavy. The adrenaline was beginning to thin out. He raised Zar'roc to parry one blow, then another. He couldn't comprehend the problem – there was plenty of energy left in his body.

_What if- oh, no! "Saphira!" _

"_I'm fine!" _she hastily responded.

"_No, you're not! I can feel it myself!" _

"_Focus on your opponents, little one! I will endure..."_

Eragon snarled and began to attack the Kull ferociously, twisting and spinning in a deadly flourish of poses. This was no mean Urgal, however. It was clearly some type of veteran or even a commander, and possessed much greater skill than any he had previously encountered. A second wave of pain came at the worst possible time; the commander swung at Zar'roc with all its might, and the force, coupled with the pain, knocked the blade clean out of his hands. It skidded to a halt ten feet away, resting against a large boulder.

Eragon raised his palm. "Brisingr!"

The Kull's wards deflected the flaming spell with ease. It raised its sword for one final blow...

There was a whooshing of steel and a pained grunt. Eragon watched as the Urgal's head was lopped off. It flew into the air gracefully. Harry, who had been running to his position, saw this and grinned widely. He raised his wand-arm.

"_Reducto!"_

The head was brandished at a second captain, who cried out in agony as his comrade's horns pierced his own eye. His misery was compounded as Harry rushed to him and drove Aiedail through the second and directly into his frontal lobe, killing him instantly.

Eragon was in shock. He was angry at himself for losing one-on-one to an Urgal, of all creatures, and he was afraid for Saphira. Arya helped him to his feet. She had saved his life. There were no two ways about it. Harry would have gotten there much too late, although he was preoccupied. Eragon looked at her.

"You saved me," he stated blankly.

"I owed you," she smiled. The glorious elf quickly spun to her right and gutted a charging foe, before turning and driving her blade through the chin and out the skull of another. Eragon ran to retrieve his sword, then hurried back to her, where they stood side-by-side.

"That doesn't make it any less significant," he informed her simply.

She briefly glanced at him sideways. "Does it matter so? We may be about to die here anyway. Come. Let us regroup with Harry and Murtagh."

Eragon paused. Harry had really had a massive influence upon him if he was about to do this. _What the hell? _He thought to himself, shaking his head to clear it. "Well, if we _are _to die I feel no shame in doing this first."

She looked around when he did not elaborate, and he chose that moment to lean forward and gently kiss her on the lips. She appeared shocked, a noticeable first.

"I'll apologise later," Eragon said, flushing. "For now, let's find the others."

Saphira roared as the pain cascaded through her front leg once more. An insolent creature had taken it upon himself to slice through her limb with his disgusting blade, and it was nauseatingly truly agonising. Angela and Brom were by her side, and no single Urgal could hope to best either of the two. The fortune-teller-woman surprised Saphira with her prodigious skill, but it was a pleasant surprise. Saphira snapped her jaws at a measly insect her dared approach her with a simple axe, and crushed him with her paw. She swiped at a small group nearby with her claws, shredding through their breastplates and ripping them to pieces in a single instant.

Angela was a true master with her mysterious staff-sword-blade, Saphira could see. She twirled it around with unprecedented speed, utilising the narrow frame to its utmost potential. Reams of Urgals fell before her, and likewise, before Brom. The old man had forgone his offensive style to focus solely on holding the Kull at bay, but even that was tiring him significantly. His energy would not last forever, and she knew his wards had already begun to fade. And yet, despite all that, he fought with a determination unmatched.

Harry was currently engaged in battle with several squads of soldiers, who had banded together in a mismatched attempt to push the Urgals back. Their captain had been slain, however, so it fell to someone to step up to the plate. Harry chose to shoulder that responsibility himself. Standing there, gleaming blade in hand, clothes splattered in blood and hair more haggard than anything before, the men were happy to listen to him. He probably frightened the new recruits as much as the Kull did.

"Okay, push forward!" he shouted, leading them with his vivacious fighting talents and powerful spells simultaneously.

"_Harry, get to Ajihad now!" _one of the twins 'shouted' at him.

Harry detected his urgency and spurred 'his' company towards the centre. They moved as a unit, fought as a unit and took fire as a unit. Harry was dealt another blow when his helm was clipped by a warhammer, resulting in the metal being bent inwards. Scowling, he ripped it off, lest it impair his already damaged sight. When he got to the middle, he saw that Ajihad was faring very badly indeed.

He and Nyos were struggling to contain the hoard that just kept on coming with what few men and dwarves remained. In fact, despite his efforts and those of his friends, the central battalion appeared to be suffering worse than any of the other two, and the reason was quite plain. There, stood, armoured in black and armed with a pale blade, was the one he hated more than any other.

"_Durza."_

"_Harry, be careful!" _Aru said angrily. _"I don't want you coming back dead as well!"_

"_He's the one who'll die, not me,"_ Harry growled. Harry didn't break ranks – he couldn't leave his fellow warriors to die. "Okay, now!" he shouted. "Break into groups and dispatch those Urgals attacking Ajihad! Right half, go and assist Hrothgar!"

The men were keen to follow his orders, having seen his prowess, and quickly did as they were told. Harry ran, cutting through Urgal after Kull, but time seemed to slow down as Ajihad began to face off against Durza directly. Almost before he could cry out, Durza drove his sword into Ajihad's chest, a smirk twisting his contorted features. Ajihad's eyes bulged, before sliding shut. With a hiss he pulled the blade out, only to follow with a backhand swing and chop off the dead man's head, a final act of horrific brutality.

Nyos exclaimed angrily and charged at Durza, who smirked at him and blew him backwards with a simple spell. He lay flat on his back, pinned by the Shade's magic.

Nyos didn't speak, he merely spat in the Shade's face.

Durza chuckled and wiped his face clean. "This is the end for _you_, traitor," he hissed. "You may join your family in the afterlife."

He raised his sword and began to bring it down, but never got the chance to finish it off. Harry chose that exact moment to cast the most powerful banishing charm he could, hoping to penetrate his wards and blow a hole through the bastard's heart at the same time. Unfortunately, he only succeeded in knocking him twenty feet and in seriously pissing him off.

Durza looked at him and growled. "You again! I don't care if the king wants you alive. This time I'll have my fun with you until the end! Say goodbye to your other eye!"

"Let's finish this," Harry intoned, raising his blade.

Durza charged.

Harry was much better and prepared than he had been in Teirm, but the Shade's twice-damned speed still echoed heavily in his mind. He was forced to rely on instinct alone as even the supersensory charm was overruled by the speed of his blows. They attacked and parried one another in unison, although Durza had the upper hand. He began to push Harry back towards his earlier position, weaving a straight path through the battlefield. He was laughing the entire time.

"Ha, you _still_ cannot compare!"

_Bloody hell, the pretentious arsehole was going to gloat again!_

Harry wouldn't stand for that. He felt untold fury as Durza taunted him and redoubled his attack, moving faster and faster with each swing. Durza stuttered in surprise, and began to find himself on the back foot. Harry took a swing at his head, aiming to decapitate him again, but the Shade predicted this approach and batted the blow aside, before gunning towards Harry's blind side.

Harry coupled his attacks with spells from his wand, but they were all deflected with simplicity. At one point he tried to blind Durza by casting the strongest _lumos _he could muster, but even that was short-lived as the unholy terror simply grinned and appeared wholly unaffected.

"I've learned how to avoid that one," he simpered.

"Avoid this one, if you can!" Harry shouted. "_Sectumsempra Maxima!" _

The massively over-powered spell would have skewered a cave troll with a single blow, but all it did was knock Durza off balance. Harry had been counted on that, meanwhile. When the Shade stumbled, he charged and lunged towards him, nicking his ribs, before Durza reacted by immediately swinging his fist upwards and catching Harry in the side of his nose, sending him packing. Harry tested it and found it was broken. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground and wiped his lips with the back of a hand, standing tall once again. Rather than be overcome by anger, he held his sword up defensively.

"Come on, you ugly, clown-looking piece of shit," Harry provoked.

Durza did not understand the reference to _It_, but he did know when he was being insulted and began to attack again, roaring in fury. He seemed to have forgotten Galbatorix's orders, and was aiming to kill with as much pain as humanly possible. When he got too close, Harry seized his opening and surprised the Shade by headbutting him in the face with as much force as he could muster, causing him to howl in pain and back off, holding his eye in agony. Harry felt light-headed from the attack, but he merely shook it off and took the opportunity to cast more offensive spells, attempting to weaken Durza's wards as much as he was able.

Durza moved to attack once more, and Harry saw with satisfaction that a massive purple bruise had already formed around his right eye. He made ready for the next assault, but was halted by a roar from nearby. Both he and Durza turned and watched with wide eyes as Saphira's jaws opened and a massive wave of fire erupted from inside, drenching him in a roaring hot inferno. His wards still held, but a flicker in his supersensory charm told Harry they were starting to fail.

"Looks like Galby didn't give you enough power for this job," Harry spat triumphantly, backing off to avoid the currents of fire.

Durza was on one knee, forced by the raw power of Saphira's flames. He began to laugh, however, and stood up full once more, chuckling openly. "You don't really think this is the extent of my power, do you? I've barely even started getting... ah, forgive the pun, _warmed up._"

Harry swallowed. He had to be bluffing. But, wait... Harry hadn't grown too much stronger since their encounter in Teirm, so how had he – seemingly – done so much damage?

_Oh, no, he's not bluffing! _"Saphira, run!"

"Garjzla!"

A sonic boom of power erupted from the Shade's outstretched arm and Harry watched in horror as a jet of deadly red light flew towards Saphira. Mustering every last ounce of power in his wand from the king's wards, he roared "Skölir Saphira fra garjzla!" just as Eragon did likewise.

Even their combined efforts were not enough. The spell penetrated both shields with an almighty struggle, and managed to pierce Saphira's chest armour. Eragon yelled in unrelenting agony as Durza's spell tore into her chest, before abruptly stopping. Massive spurts of blood began to erupt from the gaping wound, and Eragon flung himself off her back as she bellowed in burning pain, struggling not to collapse. He landed heavily on his shoulder and screamed as his shoulder dislocated, but almost immediately jumped back to his feet and began attempting to heal the wound, wincing continuously.

"It's over," Durza said simply, shaking his head. "That was your last drop of excess strength. How long do you think you can you hold out against me by yourself?"

Harry spun towards him.

"Swear to obey me in the Ancient Language, and I will heal her," Durza said calmly, smirking evilly.

"_You? _What about the king?" Harry demanded, gripping his sword tighter.

Durza uttered the foulest Urgal oath he knew and spat on the ground. "The king can rot. He has cast me aside. Join me, and together we four can crush him!"

"You're deluded if you believe that," Eragon growled, glaring at him with rage in his eyes.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not... you won't get the chance to find out if you don't let me save her."

"_I'll_ save her," declared a regal voice. Harry looked to his right, where stood Arya over a small mountain of dead Urgals. This section seemed to have been cleared but for the Shade and some intermittent duels elsewhere.

Durza stiffened. "You! You just don't know when to die!"

"Harry, I need you to distract him," Arya declared, staring at him with fury creasing her brow. "I can heal Saphira."

Durza laughed. "Please, spare me. _Him _distract me? I could toy with him, sure, but why would I-"

"_Bombarda!"_

Harry blasted a hole in the ground beneath Durza's feet, which didn't count under his second spate of wards. The Shade yelped in surprise and anger as the rock gave way, and he fell into a small pit, only several feet deep, but enough to work with. Harry rapidly began to non-verbally cast an assortment of jinxes and hexes at the Shade, which would deter him momentarily. He couldn't overpower these newly-erected wards alone; they were much too powerful.

"Quickly, help her!" Eragon exclaimed, feeling the pain burning through his heart. He winced and doubled over, tears freely falling, before catching himself. He needed to protect Saphira! That was far more important than a little bit of soreness! He shot up and rushed to Arya's side. "What do you need?"

"I need some of your power," she quickly told him. "The spell is long and complex. It requires a lot of energy, and I no longer have enough."

Harry blinked as Durza disappeared with a whip-crack noise. He knew what that meant.

"You sneaky son of a-"

A massive boot collided with his back and he flew to the ground, sprawled out. That had broken one, maybe two, ribs. Groaning, he stood up, gritting his teeth. He noted that Durza had lost his sword.

"I'm going to make you pay for Ajihad," Harry swore.

"You alone aren't strong enough to best me, boy. I'm sick and tired of telling you this."

"I beat you last time," Harry reminded him. "Strength isn't everything, and if it is... then it exists in numbers, which I have."

"Which you have! Your companions are too busy tending to your dying dragon, that fool Ajihad is dead, and that bumbling meddler Brom is too busy fighting for his life! What numbers do you have?!"

Harry looked at the ground. He had been wanting to test this one out, and now he had the first and only chance. Earlier would have been impossible, as the Urgals would have angled behind in the tunnels, and the objects had to be stationary in any case. Concentrating on the melee weapons around the field, he grinned a bloody grin and reached for his power. "_Piertotum locomotor!"_

Durza froze, eyes wide, as swords and axes of all sizes and shapes began to shake around the battlefield. Arya and Eragon looked at what was happening, thinking an earthquake was upon them. Everywhere Harry looked warriors from both sides of the fray were frozen, peering intently as thousands of weapons began to levitate themselves. Many appeared terrified.

"Too many for Durza alone..." Harry muttered. "Get them!" he roared, focusing his mind on the Urgals also. _Thank you, Professor McGonagall! _

Durza's eyes bugged out in terror as a multitude of weapons began to soar towards him at lightning-fast speeds and proceeded to batter his wards senseless.

"Go!" Harry shouted at Eragon. "Get Saphira to the dragonhold and heal her there. This won't hold him for long."

"Saphira, can you fly?" Eragon whispered, resting a comforting hand on her neck.

"_Yes... little one..." _she said in a faint voice.

Harry looked at them, noticing Arya was staring at him. He nodded at her. "I promise you I'll kill him. Just heal Saphira, please."

Arya gave him the slightest of nods and then sat behind Eragon as Saphira promptly took off and began to fly towards their newest home.

"And no snogging!" Harry shouted after them. "Don't think I didn't see that!"

Eragon blushed scarlet.

Harry returned his attention to Durza. It was a good thing he did, for the Shade let out a cry of rage and unleashed a truly sensational blast of magical energy. The weapons which had began to cut at his face and arms were vaporised instantly, and those assaulting his Urgal army also disintegrated. He truly _was_ something else. The Urgals had suffered massive losses, however, and the Varden began to slowly advance, Jörmundur leading at one end and Hrothgar at the other. Nyos had taken up command of the centre, where Harry had motioned for him to go after he had started fighting Durza, much to the older man's chagrin.

"You miserable little cretin!" Durza screamed, blood seeping from his wounds. "I'll have your head on a spike!"

"Come and get it!" Harry shouted back at him.

Durza ran at him, grabbing the nearest Urgal sword he could find. He didn't stop shouting either; on the contrary, he rained down a swathe of the filthiest insults imaginable with each and every swing of his blade, attempting to mentally cripple Harry as well as physically hurt him. Harry felt his mental barriers being stretched to the absolute limit, but focussing on Trianna's mental kiss was enough to keep Durza at bay.

Harry knew he could only bide time. His unmanned assault had severely damaged Durza's pool of strength, but he was still outmatched in the extreme. He felt Aiedail grow heavier with each swing, and the red-haired demon seemed to notice that as well, for he swung harder and harder with each passing second. But Harry wouldn't submit. Not this time. Their duel continued for what seemed like an eternity, although it couldn't have been more than five or ten minutes in reality. Several times Varden soldiers tried to help him out, but each one Durza slaughtered effortlessly.

Finally, Harry felt like he was holding a stick of lead, and Durza knocked the blade from his hands with a cry of triumph. He didn't take the killing blow, however. He punched Harry in the face and knocked him to the ground.

"I'm going to kill you now," Durza declared simply. "But before I do, you _will_ bow to me. And if you do not, I will make your dragon suffer from the inside out, _Rider."_

Harry looked up, and noted that his palm was uncovered. His glove had come off at some point during the battle. He refused to answer that.

"I said _bow_!" Durza roared, kneeing Harry in the face. Harry felt his cheekbone fracture from the impact.

He absolutely refused to consider bowing. He hadn't bowed even under the imperius curse, and he sure as hell wouldn't stoop low enough to think about doing so of his own free will. If he was to die, so be it. He would rather die than show respect to this... _creature._

Harry froze.

He had a chance. It was slim, but he had one, final, chance.

"Kreacher!"

With a pop, the house elf appeared before him, unsteady on his feet.

"What!" Durza exclaimed, taking a step backwards in horror at the dirty animal before him.

"Kreacher, take me back to the dragonhold, now!" Harry shouted, grabbing the little elf's arm.

"Yes, master!"

Durza's rage echoed in his ears as he felt himself being compressed into a tiny, suffocating tube, before feeling sweet relief as he collapsed to the floor, the top of Isidar Mithrim.

"Harry! What happened?" Eragon demanded.

"No time!" Harry shouted, stumbling to his feet. "Durza's coming. I can't beat him alone. All of us have to attack at once."

"What about the army?" Eragon asked furiously.

"They've won! He doesn't care about them... only about killing us," Harry said, voice weakening.

"How does he know where you've gone?" Arya asked worriedly, drawing her bloodied sword once more.

"I had to use the word 'dragonhold' for Kreacher to bring me here," Harry explained frantically, grabbing a dagger off of the table nearby. "Thank you for that, Kreacher."

The elf gave a bow and promptly collapsed. Harry went to help him.

"I am greatly interested in what that little rodent so happens to be," declared a cool, rough voice.

Durza stood at the entrance to the cave, looking positively crazed. His newly-acquired sword was being gripped so tightly his knuckles were even whiter than his already sheet-pale complexion, and his eyes were narrowed into a depiction of such vileness Harry knew he would have made a terrific Halloween mask back home.

"How did you get up here so quickly?!" Harry demanded. He knew Durza would look for the dragonhold, but Tronjheim was massive!

"You stupid boy!" Durza screamed. "I can feel you! _That's _how I found you in Teirm! Not those bald-headed twin pissants! Your soul is like a beacon in the darkness thanks to the part I stole, and I want the rest!"

"The twins," Harry muttered. "I guess now we know."

"Now you know," Durza said with sarcasm. "And now it does not matter. Your soul... is mine."

Harry had almost forgotten Durza had stolen a part of him, and that was why he could no longer apparate. The entire picture led back to this. Voldemort had found Alagaësia, made a special portkey from his own blood and somehow enticed Harry into touching it through an unusual curse. Then, the mysterious Riddle had been formed, a new breed of Horcrux that was separate entirely from Voldemort, hence why he hadn't been killed with his master. He had leeched off of Harry, tried to steal his memories, and was then absorbed by Durza after taking human form and being stabbed by Murtagh. But not before he had taken part of Voldemort's curse with him – a part that disallowed Harry apparition when in Alagaësia. He _needed_ that part of him back, although he would happily skip the evil half.

He was thinking about this because of one thing... the blinding rage that spiked. Almost half a year of tension and fury sprung up inside him, and he dived at the Shade, determined to kill him and take back what was rightfully his. The dagger slipped from his grasp as they collided.

"Harry!" Eragon screamed. Harry's tackle had caught Durza completely unawares, and the force had knocked him over the edge of the dragonhold. Both of them were now plummeting towards the ground and certain death – for Harry, at least – until his quick thinking stepped in once again.

"_Gravitas penna!"_

The featherlight charm came into effect immediately, and he began to float with the speed of a feather thirty feet from the ground. Moreover, that also worked for Durza, as both were attached at the time, and now they began to punch and kick each other furiously. Harry broke the Shade's jaw with a well-timed hook, and he spat a mouthful of blood and teeth into the air. Durza kicked Harry mightily in the kneecap, and Harry felt the bone directly above that bend backwards and snap in half.

When they were mere inches from the ground, Harry began to successively jab Durza between the ribs with his fists, each hit earning a grunt of pain from his nemesis. They both hit the ground with a soft flump, and Durza was now in control. Harry's broken leg immediately buckled and he fell to one knee, remaining in that pose. Looking up, he could see Saphira struggling to carry Eragon and Arya to the ground. He was completely out of power, and Durza still had a little remaining. Thankfully, he had his wand.

The bone-breaker he sent at Durza was deflected into the wall with a resounding crash, imitated by the following combination of lacerating and cutting curses. Even the cruciatus curse was completely ineffectual against the Shade's shield. Durza didn't seem to care that Arya or Eragon would probably kill him – he only wanted Harry dead. With every spell cast he took a step closer, struggling to maintain control. But Harry couldn't win this fight. He knew that now. Durza's boot collided heavily with his ribs, and Harry felt another three break as he fell backwards, his breath leaving him.

_This is it... I can't even move. "Aru, I'm so sorry..."_

"_Harry! Don't you dare give up!"_

"_I... can't... I'm too weak..."_

"_You're not weak, or alone!" _Aru roared at him, the word 'alone' echoing around his mind.

Harry let out a gasp as images began to flash before him. Angela telling him never to pass up upon a good thing, Trianna wanting to kiss him, promising Arya he would kill Durza for her... strength in numbers... which he had... power stored in mysterious places... specially designed crystals... Aren... the power of the elves and their crafting... the power taken from a hard day's work... numbers... remember Brom... what he had said...

He blinked.

He was staring directly up towards the shimmering crystals he had created, hanging gracefully above Tronjheim, sparkling in the night air, and finally he understood their mystery.

"_It is the magic of dragons," _Saphira had said.

The magic of dragons worked so mysteriously it could not be quantified, could not be measured or understood. Slowly, Harry stretched out his mind...

Durza stood above him, and raised his boot, smiling in triumph.

Harry found the store, and was blown away. The hard work of an entire city for two days lay there... silently, he took what was needed and added it to his body.

Slowly, he raised his arm.

Durza paused, thinking he was about to speak for the last time.

He had no such intention. The Gëdway Ignasia flashed. Durza's eyes widened in recognition.

Too late.

"Thrysta vindr!"

Durza screamed. A bolt of green energy cascaded its way past his last remaining ward, and penetrated his chest with a crackle of lightning and an ominous thunderclap of power. A smoking hole the size of a quaffle was the end result, and he stumbled backwards, laying a hand over the wound. Harry raised his head, unable to see anything from his angle, and laughed.

Then, quite suddenly, he stopped.

_His heart's still beating. You have got to be fucking KIDDING me!_

Durza never said another word. His eyes bulged as wide as saucers and he finally began his attack to kill Harry, but he was doomed to fail, even as he tried to speak an incantation, only resulting in pools of blood running down his chin and neck. Zar'roc, alit, came bursting through his already-sundered chest at the last second, and he stared down at the blade, choking on his own blood.

His heart was impaled on the end of Eragon's burning sword, the young Rider growling behind him. He let go of the hilt and walked around so that Durza could see him.

"That was for Arya," he whispered. "Burn in hell, you filthy bastard."

No one would ever know Carsaib's real name again, but at that moment, the doomed young man of ages gone by erupted in a flame of bodily excesses. His skin began to tear, bursting at the seams. He let loose a ghoulish scream, something he had grown accustomed to tonight, having finally met his match, and he felt the light in his own eyes dimly go out as the spirit known as Durza erupted from within. His body seemed to implode, and he existed no more, not even in the afterlife. He was finally dead.

Harry waited as the remains of the Shade, two glowing orbs, approached him and him alone. One pure, one malignant. He waved a hand, knowing it was that easy with Aru at his side and victory in his mind.

"I... I don't need you... Riddle. Go with Durza. Rot... in the darkness. Forever."

The pure magical essence fused with his heart, and the evil, twisted device that Voldemort had created vanished at long last with an unearthly clang, freeing Harry from his curse after so long of searching for a cure. His abilities would be completely normal once he was fully healed, and there would be no lasting side effects. He was free. Two of his most dangerous enemies and an Urgal army had been conquered in one decisive blow, and it had come from Eragon, his best friend.

"Thank you," Harry whispered, smiling.

Eragon gave a small smile as he held his arm in a comforting matter. "Don't mention it, my friend. Now, sit tight. Arya has gone to find Angela. You'll be just fine."

"T-the twins," Harry spluttered.

Eragon shook his head sadly. "Gone. They've fled. Don't worry about them – we'll talk about it when you feel better. We won, Harry. Du Vrangr Gata relayed that they've been routed."

"Eragon," Harry said in a voice that barely registered. "I feel like myself a-again. Whole. Thanks to you. Make sure the others are s-safe," he strained, before losing his eyes to unconsciousness.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

**Chapter Twenty Two – Scars of Farthen Dur**

* * *

The battle under the mountain had been won by the Varden, but there still remained an extensive mopping-up operation to take care of. There was more than enough wounded for the healers to handle, and any Urgals still breathing were being dispatched by sweeping squads of swordsmen. Eragon took part in these gruelling manoeuvres, finding it much more difficult to dispatch a wounded opponent than one who was armed and fighting back. But as he thought of the destruction the monsters had caused his anger was fuelled and it became easy, almost mundane.

Of his group of friends, only Arya was in his company. Harry was still unconscious after expounding so much of his energy and suffering several broken bones, whilst Brom had received a nasty gash to his left arm during the final push that required immediate medical attention. He hadn't seen Nyos since flying off with Arya, and Murtagh...

Eragon shuddered. He didn't want to think about that.

He grunted in frustration as he plunged Zar'roc into the neck of a dying Kull, hearing it give a death rattle before slumping sideways. This was war at its finest, and its finest was truly horrific. He had to get used to the feeling, or else he would never become strong enough to defeat Galbatorix.

His only real consolation was that Saphira's injuries had been easily mended through a combination of Angela's efforts and his own patience being stretched through worry. But she needed to rest. The battle had taken its toll, and Eragon had insisted. His own power had been bolstered by the reserves he had found in Harry's crystals, power that he realised had now defeated Durza. No one seemed to know what had happened save Eragon and Arya, so the facts were rapidly becoming rumour.

Since he happened to be awake and Harry did not, many were proclaiming him as the Varden's saviour and he truly despised every second of said acclamations. Harry had been the one who had almost died, who had probably killed Durza with a mortal wound regardless of Eragon stabbing the mad bastard in the heart. There was no way the organ would have survived such intense pressure for a sustained period of time – it would have failed after mere minutes, and the Shade had had no power with which to heal the gaping wound.

In short, he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from cursing at those calling him 'Shadeslayer' every time they walked past. He didn't give a damn about such pettiness, and felt sorry for those who did. All that stopped him from acting out was the instinctive knowledge that the Varden had taken great losses in this battle, and by recognising him as a _hero_ they could still the pain somewhat.

He would allow them their moment of self-pity for the sake of morale, but that would end soon. He didn't want any additional responsibility and certainly wasn't a saviour in any case; Harry had wrestled the victory from the Urgals. _That_ at least had been seen by one and all. His animation charm had shocked everybody present, and thinned the enemy ranks significantly. If he remembered correctly, Angela had said many would look to both Harry and him for guidance and leadership, so was it possible that time had now arrived?

The death of Ajihad certainly suggested so, which was another reason he allowed the plaudits to continue for the time being. He would put a stop to them as soon as Harry awoke, he decided, and acknowledge his friend as the one responsible for defeating Durza; although, this would be done in moderation so as to ensure Harry was not overwhelmed or crowded by those around him. He would hate the attention even more than Eragon, having experienced such situations in the past.

He was pulled from his musings as an Urgal, missing a left arm, jumped to its feet and starting swearing in its repulsive language. Eragon didn't bat an eye. He stared the creature down, impassive, unbreakable. The Urgal growled at him and swung a battleaxe for his neck. With one hand the movement was slow and weak, allowing him to casually sidestep the intended killing blow and decapitate the aggressor with an almost bored breeziness.

"_It's a good thing this is the blade of Dragon Riders, else I feel it would require a thorough cleaning," _he commented airily.

"_Is that an attempt to boast of how many Urgals you dispatched, little one?" _Saphira replied.

"_No. It's an attempt to suggest how disgusting Urgal blood is."_

Eragon grimaced and wiped the blade clean with a piece of cloth he ripped from his tunic sleeve; that didn't matter, for there were enough loose threads and scratches in the embroidery that the material itself was ruined. It was to be expected.

"Eragon, report," Jörmundur said, quickly stopping his horse nearby.

Eragon glanced up briefly, before returning to his task of searching the corpse-strewn battlefield for more live Kull. He bestrewed a veteran's air with his apparent ease of speech towards the Varden's temporary commander. "Most of the Urgals in this section have been taken care of. Aside from a few through the centre and several pierced by arrows near the cave entrances I believe this task is almost complete."

"Good," Jörmundur nodded, appearing satisfied. He rubbed the bandages around his forehead. The skin had been lacerated by an armoured fist, but despite feeling woozy he still had to maintain an aura of control over the Varden's remaining warriors.

Eragon took a draught from his waterskin, face still betraying no emotion. "Orders?" he inquired, not looking up, but instead replacing the container on his belt.

"Go back and rest. You must be exhausted by now," Jörmundur said.

Eragon scoffed. "So are you," he remarked.

"True, but I've been seen by a healer already."

"I reinforced my strength with the energy stored in the emeralds above Tronjheim," Eragon reminded him. "I decided the remainder was to be given to the healers to aid them."

"A good idea," Jörmundur agreed. "And the crystals themselves?"

"Inert. It seems that was a one-time boon, yet it may have saved all our skins." Jörmundur had seen how annoyed Eragon was when anyone called him Shadeslayer, and so hadn't bothered trying to emulate their words. Instead, he chose to address what was really bothering the young Rider.

"Unfortunately, you won't be in a position to 'save our skins' yourself if you don't go and sleep for at least a few hours. You've already done more than enough, as has Harry. And seeing what happened to Murtagh-"

"Don't!" Eragon said immediately, raising a hand. Jörmundur fell silent. "_That_ was no one's fault, but he'll have to live with the repercussions for the rest of his life, regardless. Unless Harry knows of a spell that can help... but he admitted he isn't proficient with healing magic in the slightest. Maybe he'll remember something now that he's... intact... once again."

"Ah, this again... you still haven't told me-"

"And I'm afraid I have no plans to, either," Eragon interrupted. "I do apologise if I seem on-edge at all, but need I remind you one of my friends is seriously injured and another one almost killed himself before my eyes by jumping over a thousand feet? Not to mention Ajihad dying... killing untold numbers of enemies... and other things."

"_Like kissing Arya," _Saphira commented gleefully.

"_Hush, you," _Eragon said, somewhat more gently, but he silently agreed. He chanced a glance at the raven-haired elven princess standing a little away from him. She was knelt over a slain group of Varden soldiers, eyes shut in a serene manner. He hadn't approached her since killing Durza, and had no plans to do so in the near future. There were more important matters at hand, and seeing what happened to his two best friends had been a massive shock.

"It affects us all," Jörmundur continued in a gentle, understanding tone. He watched with Eragon as smoke billowed across the mountains of death in which they stood, and as numerous Urgals were put to the sword by marauding squads of warriors. Not only that, but the smell was nauseating, so stagnant that it almost left a taste in the mouth, and that was infinitely more sickening than any sight.

Finally, Eragon shook himself out of his solemn thoughts. "I'll go and rest for a while. But I'll be there for that meeting, sir. You have my word on that. I want to know what comes next."

With that he turned and walked towards the area in which Brom and Harry were located, leaving Jörmundur to reply calmly after him:

"Ellesméra is still on the table. We just need Hrothgar to move the dwarves or we go alone."

"Good luck with that," Eragon muttered to himself, narrowing his eyes.

* * *

In another part of Alagaësia, one untouched by the grim demeanour of war, laughter and typical drunken rowdiness emanated from the local tavern. Men and women alike sat in the packed establishment, drinking the finest ale on offer and still celebrating the winter's departure. They had gone through a particularly hard time recently, and drank to better fortunes for the coming year.

That would soon change.

One of their number sat there quietly, contemplating the letter in his hands. He had read it at least thirty times in the space of several months, yet still found it as shocking and enticing as upon first glance. It was part of a pair, although its less obvious half resided in his home at present.

"Oh, are you looking at that bloody thing again?" Horst asked, rolling his eyes and grinning in a half-drunken stupor.

Roran grimaced. He wasn't drunk, but slightly tipsy. He still had a level head, and wouldn't go beyond that point. "I won't rest until I know the truth, Horst," he replied calmly, pocketing the note.

"Eh? What truth? The truth is that your father was murdered by outsider scum, and that same scum managed to escape the noose by fleeing the town with your cousin," Horst said through the laughter surrounding the pair.

"You don't seem too concerned about Eragon's wellbeing, in that case," Roran said flatly. "If Harry was a murderer and a liar then Eragon would be in grave danger."

Horst shrugged. "All sorts of theories have been bandied about." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I'm sorry, but there are some who believe both Eragon and that Harry accidentally set fire to your farm and-"

"Enough!" Roran said loudly, silencing the establishment. When no punches were pulled, those present went back to their drinks, and the ruckus was soon begun anew. Roran whispered furiously: "I won't have you slander my cousin's name in such a manner. I understand _you_ aren't saying these things, but I will not stand for it. I'm very grateful for all of your help, Horst. Without you I doubt I could have scraped through the winter clearing away the rubble. That being said... watch it."

Horst held up his hands in a placating manner. "No offence intended, Roran. I only say what I've heard. And you have to admit that boy was a suspicious type."

"None taken," Roran said, nodding somewhat stiffly. "He may have been... but I believe he is innocent of all wrongdoing. He lived with us for a time, and then became a neighbour. He wasn't the sort to harm any innocent life, and why should he? What purpose would such actions have served?"

Horst made a thoughtful expression. "That I honestly do not have the answer to, Roran. But if the fire was accidental-"

"Then he would have admitted to it."

Horst cocked his head to one side, frowning despite his slight inebriation. "Mishandling of fire is a hanging offence, Roran. Nobody would ever admit to causing a man's death from such negligence."

"Oh, I'm not sure about that. You didn't know Harry as well as I did..." Roran muttered, thinking of the young man's stories. They were the mark of an honest man; that Harry could tell them such tales meant that there was no conceivable way they were blatant fabrications. There was at least a smattering of the truth in each and every one, especially known to Roran as he had once sneaked a view of Harry performing magic to summon a goblet and fill it with water. But Horst didn't need to know that.

"Whatever the case," Horst shrugged. "I hope your cousin is in good health. That old fool Brom is unpredictable. Maybe he thought _someone_ was guilty and pursued them."

"Or maybe he knew they were innocent and wanted to help them escape the bastardisation of justice," Roran added.

"We may never know... and the less I see of such queer folk again, the better. No offence to your cousin. Eragon is a good lad... but that Brom was a strange character at the very least. And Harry was more than peculiar enough for half of the village to suspect him of committing the crime."

Roran sighed heavily. "Suspicions without proof," he said bitterly.

"They're all many of these people know, I'm afraid," Horst said gently, raising his tankard in a mock salute to the ineptness.

Suddenly, a man known as Quimby came bursting through the door. He practically knocked it off its hinges, and lay crumpled in a heap for a few seconds, before painfully struggling to his feet.

There was complete silence.

"Quimby?" Morn asked from behind his bar with concern. "What's the matter? Somebody help the man up!"

Roran scrambled over and hoisted the brewer to his feet. He wasn't an entirely youthful man, and needed a few moments to recapture his breath. Once he had done so, his words shocked all those present.

"Soldiers! There are soldiers in Carvahall! And some queer creature has come with them; it made my bones shudder just to look at it," he said, shivering, although not from the weather.

"What do they want?" Roran demanded, wondering if his suspicions were to be confirmed.

"You! They've come with a warrant for your arrest," Quimby told him urgently. "You have to get out of here, Roran! Run!"

"Whoa, hold up, there!" said Sloan, the butcher. He stood up at the back of the room and pointed at Roran. "Who are we to disobey royal law or direct orders? If they want the boy, let them take him! Who knows what they'll do to us if we help him escape?"

Roran ignored him. "Quimby... this creature... describe it."

Quimby shuddered again as the image sprung forth in his mind. "It was cloaked in black, but it couldn't have been human. It's hunched over and speaks with a disgusting lisp and crackle. It made my stomach turn just to hear it."

"Its face was hidden, then?"

Quimby nodded.

"Roran?" Horst inquired, allowing his sober half to take precedent.

Roran thought for a moment, but then came to a stark conclusion. There could be no other explanation. "This is one of the strangers who burned my farm and killed Garrow."

There were cries of outrage, some directed at Roran and some generalised.

"Silence!" Horst roared, his powerful voice rising above all others. They heeded his command after a moment or two. "How can you possibly know that, Roran? You didn't even see the strangers last time they were here."

Scowling, Roran removed Harry's letter from his pocket and threw it onto the table in front of the blacksmith. "Read it yourself! All of you read it, if you must! But I can read it without looking. 'Two mysterious strangers... the Ra'zac... not human...working for Galbatorix...'" he said, reading separate fragments. "And Harry warns me we have to be on our guard. I don't know why these things want to capture me, but it has something to do with my cousin. Since he disappeared to try and draw them away, I can only assume he meant to protect us-"

"Protect us!" Sloan shouted with mirth. "He wanted to protect himself!"

"Funny, Sloan; the letter _does_ also warn me to be suspicious of certain people... people who had to have given the Ra'zac information in the first place..."

"And you're accusing me?" Sloan demanded. "Present your proof!"

"Shut your fat mouth already, Sloan," Horst growled. "No matter who's right here, one fact remains: we protect our own. Unless they give adequate reason for Roran's arrest he won't be handed over."

Roran gave him a nod of gratitude. But the butcher wasn't finished.

"A pox on that! They'll cite treason or worse and there'll be nothing we can do to dispute those claims! Once they're uttered there'll be no choice but to deliver him!"

"And yet I'm _dearly_ interested in this creature Quimby has seen," Horst said simply. "If Harry was lying, then what _is_ it, exactly?"

Sloan opened his mouth to retort, but then shut it abruptly. He had no answer to that. No one did.

"It's more than that," Roran declared, drawing all eyes once more. "Galbatorix is a tyrant. He's enslaved us all and has never sent relief packages, even during the harshest of winters. He has murdered thousands of innocent civilians, and need I remind _any_ of you what he did to the Dragon Riders?! We all know the tales! Do you really _want_ a man like that ruling over you? And now he employs monsters that enjoy torture and murder to do his dirty work!"

"It's not a question of _want_," Morn said, crossing his arms. "The townspeople can hardly overthrow the Empire."

There were a few shouts of 'hear hear' at that.

"And yet we have the audacity to complain nevertheless," Roran retorted. "Now hear this, and hear it well: I'll go if you really want me to. I'll run, far away, and never return. But do you think the Ra'zac will stop there? They already tortured one man for information. If they suspect you had a hand in my disappearance what do you think they'll do to Carvahall?"

"We'll use force if we have to!" Sloan declared.

"No, we won't," Horst replied quietly, looking annoyed at the man's idiocy. "We don't even know why he's wanted. Is this what we've become? A feckless band of brigands who release the hounds for every simple misdemeanour and jump to conclusions without adequate proof? I'm ashamed if we have. There was no evidence to suggest either Eragon or Harry was responsible for what happened to Garrow, yet look how that turned out. Will this be more of the same?"

"We should do whatever's necessary to protect ourselves!" Sloan screamed. He pointed at Roran threateningly. "And that means _you_ are never getting anywhere near my daughter!"

Roran scoffed. "Katrina is old enough to make her own decisions. I'd like to see you try to stop her."

"I'm her father!"

"_You_ are a fat, worthless old dotard with not a shred of honour in your body! I would challenge you to a duel, but I'd rather not taint my fists with the blood of a traitorous coward," Roran spat. He was far past being courteous. "If you have anything to say about that, now's the time!"

His glare never wavering, Sloan stepped forward. He walked up to Roran, baring his eyes into those of the young farmer relentlessly, not stopping until they were almost nose to nose. Roran could smell the ale on his breath. He gripped the glass behind his back tighter in anticipation. When the butcher made a sudden move, he quickly brought it crashing down upon his head, shattering it into dozens of pieces and knocking Sloan clean onto the floor, out cold.

"Well, that takes care of that," Horst said calmly.

"You killed him!" Morn exclaimed, rushing over.

"No, he's just unconscious," Roran replied, uncaring.

"We'll take care of him," Horst promised, sounding rather foreboding. "You'd best find Katrina and flee. Quickly!"

Roran thanked him profusely before leaving via the back exit. He ensured no soldiers were around, before darting through the shadows in the direction of Katrina's home. They would leave tonight. He wouldn't risk the village for their sake. He had to create a diversion and lure the soldiers away without involving Carvahall.

Back in the tavern, Morn, who was leaning over Sloan's body to ensure there was no permanent damage, looked at Horst and asked: "why did you let him go?"

Horst took one of Sloan's arms and helped the barman heave him into a chair, where he stooped forward and banged his head against a table. No one paid him any notice. At Horst's direction, the men present went back to their drinks. They needed to act as though nothing had happened to maintain a degree of innocence.

"Because I'm not handing him over. This way it's out of my hands," Horst said quietly.

"You're awfully loyal to the lad," Morn mumbled. "There's a good chance they'll kill us."

"How so? They'll search the farmlands first. All it takes is one slip to indicate he's gone into the Spine and..." he trailed off deliberately.

Morn's eyes widening in recognition. "And then they'll have to search for him. Good, this way we appear neutral but still aid one of our own. Very good."

Horst nodded. "We can send them in the opposite direction. The Spine is a big place. I'll have one of my boys tell Roran where to hide, then we can get in touch when things die down a little. We just need a scapegoat," he muttered, scratching his beard. "They'll demand to know who tipped him off."

Both came to the same conclusion simultaneously. The irony was almost acidic.

Horst smirked. Perhaps if he had been entirely sober this wouldn't even be a consideration, but as it was... he simply didn't care. "Yes, why not? I'm sure he'll enjoy waking up with the soldiers questioning him. And if they kill him... that's too bad. He's made plenty of us suffer in the past by overcharging during the winter. You fine gentlemen _did_ see Sloan warn Roran about the soldiers and then slip and bang his head, correct?"

There was a unanimous sea of nods.

"My hands are free of this," Morn said, despite his grin. Come, Quimby. You can have an ale on the house. You look exhausted, man."

* * *

"And so, we've concluded there are no more injuries which are life-threatening, courtesy of Eragon's additional strength," Trianna said, finishing her status update to Jörmundur.

"I'm pleased to hear it, although I gather that doesn't account for those which will still require a set amount of time to fully heal?" the temporary commander questioned.

Trianna nodded. "Some will lose limbs, but their lives are secure. Many require rest due to mental fatigue... and others will be permanently disfigured," she said lowly, gazing briefly at Eragon. She had been incredibly worried about Harry, whether as a friend... or more.

Eragon himself blinked back his distress. He had to maintain face in this command tent. Besides the three of them, Arya and Hrothgar were also present. It wouldn't do to let his composure slip.

"We're all saddened to hear that," Hrothgar said gently. "It is a terrible part of war."

"It's the only true face of war, your grace," Eragon said in a low voice. He could hardly muster the strength to raise it higher; not from physical exhaustion, however.

"This is true... and horrible," Hrothgar nodded. "Let us hope our comrades' sacrifices have not been in vain."

"We'll make sure of it," Jörmundur swore. "Our families are waiting for us several leagues to the east, and we intend to join them. Trianna has tasked Du Vrangr Gata with loading the supply wagons and carts as much as possible. We'll be departing after a brief respite to gain our strength, and then we leave for Ellesméra. Arya has promised us the queen will be more than willing to offer help for redevelopment once she finds her daughter alive and well."

"You have my word on that," Arya said, giving a slight bow.

"I thank you for it."

Normally Eragon would have felt embarrassed for so much as looking at the elven beauty, but this time it was the opposite way around. Not that the elf felt sheepish in the slightest by gazing at him, but he didn't return the look. He kept his head down, and arms folded.

"Alas, the clans have yet to make a decision," Hrothgar said with regret. "Many are convinced that to stay and die in the halls of our ancestors is more worthy an end than to run and hide in the forest. It will take some time before any air of finality can be brought to the debate, and no matter what I offer or threaten them with... there is no difference. They'll speak for themselves, as it has always been."

Jörmundur was silent for a minute, before shaking his head. "I'm sorry, your majesty. We can't wait any longer. We have to leave. Our own survival is at stake, as is yours. I understand you have civilians in many other cities throughout the mountains, but we can afford to tarry no more. The Varden will head north, and there we shall make our new home."

"It is with great regret that I see you leave us, but know that I will always offer your people my undying support," Hrothgar swore. He clasped hands tightly with Jörmundur. "Well met, my friend."

"Well met, your grace," Jörmundur replied, bowing.

Hrothgar gave a solemn smile. "I am still my people's clan leader. Although I cannot send Dûrgrimst Igneitum to war as a whole, I will give you some of my warriors for protection on your road to the forest. Orik can lead them. Once you settle they will remain with you, and await further orders. If the decision is made and we are to remain, they will then return. Otherwise, the company can stay as a part of your permanent protection until the dwarven nation can join you."

"I am honoured, King Hrothgar," Jörmundur said respectfully, inclining his head.

Hrothgar hesitated. "I should have no right to say this, but I feel my time as king is drawing to a close. Wait until you're out of the mountain range, and then inform Orik he is to adapt the mantra of Grimstborith. The word comes from me."

"Are you... are you certain?" Jörmundur asked, clearly shocked.

"Yes, I believe so," Hrothgar smiled. "He will make a fine leader one day. Ah, yes! This entire discussion has reminded me..." he muttered, trailing off as he searched for something inside his pockets. "Here we are! Eragon, I have something for you."

Eragon looked up, surprised. The dwarven king was holding a simple necklace in his hand, one made from silver and decorated with a hammer at the front, the insignia of his clan. He also held two additional appendages in his other palm.

"I am sorry, but I could find no more than these three... I think you will all agree the Riders need protection, and this will aid you in that regard," he announced, proffering the jewellery toward him.

Eragon accepted it graciously, eyeing the metal with appreciation. It was simple, yet still outmatched many human trinkets with ridiculous ease. "Thank you, sir. But... what will this protect me from, I must ask?"

"It, and these other two, is bolstered with magical runes, which will prevent any magician from scrying you. The spell draws upon your own strength, so be careful. When wearing it, however, any who try to see your location will observe nothing but blackness. I thought it may come in handy," the king explained.

Eragon certainly agreed. He thanked the dwarf once more before slipping it around his neck, and accepting the other two with gratitude, both of which he slipped into his pocket. Something like this for Arya would have been nice, but the king _did_ have a point. The Riders had to be protected above all others, as much as he would have preferred to ensure the safety of his friends first.

"Now we must burden ourselves with a troubling matter," Jörmundur said with worry. "Our other Rider. How is Harry?"

"Bad," Eragon stated. "He still hasn't awoken, or Angela would have contacted me. Brom should be okay soon enough, and I found Nyos aiding a group of healers wandering through the battlefield a little while ago."

"And your friend Murtagh?" Hrothgar queried.

There was silence.

Eragon shook his head ever so slightly. "The damage is... extensive. He should be able to walk, talk and fight... we hope. But that bastard Urgal got in a cheap shot, and since he was still wearing his armour at the time... fucking magician..." Eragon whispered, eyes wide as he shook his head and stared at the dirt beneath his feet.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Hrothgar said with condolences.

"As are we all," Jörmundur replied. "There are, however, many wounded besides. Trianna, I need you to convey a message to Nasuada with the civilians. Tell her we'll be departing within the day."

Trianna nodded and left. She hoped to visit Harry for a few minutes, and so moved quickly.

"Eragon, Arya... both of you go back. You know our next move now, and I want you to rest up."

"Again?" Eragon sighed.

"Yes. You're of no use to me half-dead."

"It might be better if I were to depart immediately," Arya said.

Eragon looked at her, alarmed. "Why would you do that?"

She gave him a sad look. "It only makes sense. The sooner my people find out I am safe all the more quickly we can aid yours."

Jörmundur shook his head. "Forget it," he said flatly. "Even with _your _speed you'd never get there and back before we're well out and moving. I want you helping guard our most vulnerable during the course of this escapade. They _need_ you. We can work out a compromise with your mother when we arrive. I won't rest easy until we're deep within the borders of Du Weldenvarden."

Arya thought for a moment, then nodded. "As you wish. Your way also makes sense to me."

"Good. Now, both of you, get out and go restore your energy," he said sharply, eliciting a grin from Hrothgar.

They both diligently departed, basking in an awkward silence. The day itself had not been so bad before growing dark, not that it really matter within the mountain's heart. Many of the bodies had been cleared away, but some Urgals still remained beside the tunnel-mouth. They would be dealt with lastly. Eragon and Arya walked together towards the city; still finding it odd that many people had deserted, Eragon found the silence unnerving. But at least they would soon be joining the other residents in their self-imposed exodus.

That silence was finally broken.

"Are we to ever speak of this?" Arya dutifully asked him, still staring ahead.

Eragon sighed, knowing exactly what she was referring to. "I said I would apologise, and I do. I beg your forgiveness."

"No. I meant Murtagh and Harry," Arya said with a little worry. It made her uneasy that Eragon did not pick up on that immediately; not because he didn't care – he cared more about those he loved than many she had ever before met – but rather since he seemed to be blocking the images out. Saphira was probably helping to ease his pain, but it should still be greater than this.

"I have no tears to shed," Eragon said flatly. "What I've had to do I have already done. Of course Harry's glamour charms will help if they are wanted, too. Did you know he uses one on himself?"

"I... did not," Arya admitted. She hadn't been able to spot the magic involved.

"Yes, Durza blinded him in one eye when they fought in Teirm. The entire iris turned crimson, but he masks the appearance. I don't think even Trianna knows," Eragon explained.

Arya was aghast! She had no idea the young Rider was half-blind! That was a seriously crippling blow! "Why am I only now hearing of this?" she demanded.

"Because of that reason in itself," Eragon said patiently. "The fact that you haven't noticed speaks a testament to his self-imposed supersensory charm, which allows him to _feel_ magic nearby as though the wind were rushing against him. You wouldn't even think his vision was slightly impaired."

Arya now understood, and that broke her heart. Eragon was trying to convince himself that there would be hope for Murtagh. That was why. But convincing himself was difficult, and so he hoped she could help him with that endeavour.

"I'm certain things will work out in the end," she told him. Convincing herself it was for the sake of friendship only, she gently took his hand in her own. But something clicked inside her. His earlier actions had affected her more than Arya wanted to admit. Not even she yet understood how. But the fact remained that she couldn't help wanting to comfort him.

As he gave her a small smile, she found herself in desperate need of much more convincing than _that._

"Eragon?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, my lady?" he replied courteously.

"You are forgiven."

* * *

From his spot nearby, Harry watched with folded arms as Roran grabbed Katrina's hand and both silently fled into the Spine, leaving only the sound of crickets in their wake. His face was a bastion of concentration as he observed the act with interest and concern, knowing instinctively who they were running from. His fears were not quelled as a group of soldiers marched around the side of a nearby house, casting glances in all directions, before turning and stalking off.

Knowing they had looked directly at him but seen nothing, Harry unfolded his arms and turned into the woods, following the young couple through the trees. It was not that he could use magic, but every branch in sight almost seemed to move for him, so that he was able to walk unimpaired. He finally found the two perched at a nearby log, gazing over the top into Carvahall discreetly. Katrina looked terrified.

"Oh, Roran!" she cried. "They have my father!"

Harry frowned and moved beside them, crouching next to Roran. He watched through a noticeable gap in the trees as the soldiers dragged Sloan out onto the grass next to...

_Ra'zac. _

The hooded monstrosity stood like a demon of hell, glaring the butcher down with unseen eyes. Sloan would definitely piss himself in fear when he awoke. Although judging from his wounds, that may take a while.

"Don't worry," Roran told her urgently, grabbing her face to draw her eyes away from the scene. She looked at him, tears running down both cheeks. He wiped them away. She looked very pretty even when sad, her elegant copper hair tumbling to her waist. "I'm going to get us both out of here. I promise you that."

"And my father?" she asked fearfully, looking pleadingly towards him.

Roran bowed his head ever so slightly. "I'll try to help him, but he wanted to sell me out, Katrina. He was ready to give me to the soldiers like a piece of meat, and he swore the two of us would never be together, either."

"He said that?" Katrina asked, distraught.

Roran nodded.

"What the hell is going on here?" Harry asked out-loud, screwing up his face. "Aren't I supposed to be in Farthen Dur, fighting Durza?"

Neither of the two heard him.

"Hello?" Harry asked, snapping his fingers in their faces. When they didn't respond, he tried to poke Roran in the side of the face, only to discover his hand when straight through, like that of a ghost. Only, unlike a ghost, his friend didn't even seem to notice. He kept his attention fixed firmly on Katrina, comforting her.

Harry sighed. "Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Is Durza inside my mind? Is this his idea of a mental attack? If it is, I feel sorry for you!"

Nothing.

Harry groaned and sat himself down on top of the log, watching over his shoulder as the guards attempted to wake Sloan by kicking him. The man finally responded, groaning and rolling over. The Ra'zac made an indication with its hand, and the soldiers dragged him away towards its tent.

"We need to go," Roran whispered to Katrina. "We can stay in a small clearing a few miles east from here. When it's clear Horst will give us the all-clear. I managed to see Baldor before getting some food."

With her nod of consent, he took his love by the hand and began to lead her quickly away.

"Yeah, great! Just leave me here!" Harry shouted after them in annoyance. With a grumble, he jumped to his feet and made his way down towards the soldiers, curious as to what was happening. He found that many were heading towards Morn's inn, whilst others were simply patrolling the village, apparently having enforced a curfew upon its inhabitants.

_But why would- unless... they're after Roran himself. That's what this is! They don't want information on Eragon, they want a bargaining tool!_

Harry felt a stab of panic. This wasn't good. Somehow, he needed to get Roran the hell out of there. Deep down, he remembered Eragon killing the Shade, although why that was only now registering he had no idea. Everything was fuzzy. Even his connection with Aru appeared to have been temporarily disabled.

If it was the case, he could finally apparate here and then back to the Varden, thus taking Roran and Katrina out of harm's way. But unless... no, that wouldn't work. The soldiers would burn the village to the ground for spite. He knew the Ra'zac would sanction the move. Hell, it would probably order it done even if Roran was captured in the first place.

Mind made up, he jogged towards the Ra'zac's tent and found the flap uncovered. He strode inside, gritting his teeth at the screams of pain.

What he found was just sickening.

He hated Sloan. He really did. But no one deserved to have their eyes burned out with Seithr Oil, except maybe Galbatorix. The butcher had two smoking holes inlaid in his skull, and was whimpering with undiluted agony. The soldiers holding his arms released him, and he fell to the ground heavily, powerless to resist as they began kicking him and beating him with wooden objects.

"The irony is I don't sympathise wholly," Harry told him with contempt, knowing he couldn't be heard. "You killed Garrow, and almost killed Eragon and myself through your words. I'm sure many more graves are from a fault of your prices. This is no less than you deserve."

Harry sighed.

"But... I'll help you. I'll get you out... if you're still alive by the time I figure out how to wake up, that is," he admitted.

With a sudden jerk, Harry found himself gasping. He was yanked from the vision and lay instead on his back, staring at an opaque gleam of unidentifiable white that stretched eternally into the horizon of his vision.

"You see it now."

"That voice..." Harry whispered, recognising it immediately. "Fírnen?"

"I think you know by now that is not my name, Harry Potter," came the patient reply.

"Then what is it?" Harry asked quickly, hoping this chance wouldn't pass.

"Call it a 'protection' of sorts," Fírnen said.

"No, I meant: what's your real-"

"Now, listen! We don't have time for this. I haven't got long before this connection must be severed. What you just saw is very real. It's happening as we speak, and it must be stopped. Even the Ra'zac knows a man under torture who continues to babble must be telling the truth in some form. It will start interrogating the entire village after but a little while."

"Oh, no!" Harry said under his breath. "I have to get them out of there. No matter what they thought me guilty of I can't leave them to this fate."

"Yes... quite. But you are still weak. I can feel it. You will need to recover somehow, and then travel with a powerful companion to their aid. I would not advise you risk your own life under any other circumstances than saving that of your fellow Rider's."

"Eragon? What's happened to him?" Harry asked fearfully.

"Nothing yet. He will, however, not be able to cope with his cousin's death. Which is why you _must_ save him, Harry Potter. Go now. Go with the blessing of dragons. I give you another small amount of my strength. I'm afraid it is all I can spare. This has weakened me..."

"Wait! This time tell me how to find you!"

There was a brief silence, then:

"It will happen in time. Do not concern yourself with trying."

Harry awoke as though he had been doused with a bucket of icy water. His face, however, was completely dry. It had been a mental effect, nothing more. He found his arm in a sling and his ribs aching, but the pain in his leg had been strangely subdued. He flopped his head back onto the pillow.

_How the hell am I going to fight like this? _He thought, disgusted.

Then he remembered.

His memory itself was much clearer than it previously had been, courtesy of reabsorbing his soul fragment. Certain things now made themselves known with ease that had previously been difficult to recall, such as the spell Lockhart had attempted – and miserably failed – in repairing his broken wrist, as well as one Tonks had utilised. That was due to Aru. Thanks to the young dragon he could now sift through his own memories with relative ease and since those were now more vocal than before, this was relative child's play.

Another Riders' benefit.

The spell itself he had never cast, but it was worth a try. He found his wand lying next to him on a small wooden counter as his armour had been removed, and quickly leaned over to retrieve it, sucking in his breath as his ribs strained with the movement. Taking a breath to steady himself, he pointed it at his leg and shut his eyes.

The incantation was difficult to remember, but once he had done so, the power began to flow from his wand like a faucet. There was a horrific cracking sound and he yelled out in pain, eyes flying open. He laughed then, however. His toes could be wiggled around without any aches, whilst his ankle had been twisted back into the correct direction.

"What is all this noise about?" Angela demanded, striding into the room and slamming the door behind her. She looked quite haughty. "I leave you alone for half an hour and you get attacked by something!"

"I wasn't being attacked!" Harry said, affronted. Much to his chagrin, the fortune teller made a 'hmph' sound and threw a set of clothes at his feet. "Hey, watch it!"

"I wanted to see if your leg had healed."

"What? How did you know?"

"I didn't."

Harry rolled his eyes, then froze in the act of getting out of bed as he looked under the sheet. "Where are my clothes?!"

"I threw them away," she informed him simply. "Those were little more than rags after what you've been through. Take those instead," she said, indicating the bundle at his feet.

"You... err... you took my clothes off?" Harry asked, blushing.

"Of course not! Trianna wouldn't hear of it! She did it herself. Has hardly left your side but to heal others. Now, get dressed. If you've found a way to heal yourself I could use your help."

Knowing his face was the colour of scarlet, Harry watched Angela leave again before wordlessly repairing the damage to his left arm and ribcage. The latter ached as they snapped back to their correct position; no one ever said the 'episkey' charm was gentle. It was merely effective. He removed the sling and quickly pulled on the simple undergarments, shirt and breeches Angela had left for him, relieved that the pain was mostly gone. He still had an assortment of bruises all across his body and a cut above his eye, but those would vanish by themselves with a little time.

Harry jumped to his feet after tying his boots, feeling a little wobbly from numbness. He waited a few seconds for that sensation to subside, before grabbing his sword from the table nearby. It had been badly battered during the skirmish, but a simple pair of cleaning and repairing charms mended any would-be problems. The blade itself now looked brand-new once more, whilst the hilt and belt were freed from any dirt. He attached it to his waist, strangely used to the weight, and placed his wand in the special holster he merged it together with beforehand.

Taking a breath, he strode to the door and opened it. This was a private room, but he doubted the same privilege had been afforded to many of the other wounded warriors. Harry didn't like the idea. He was surprised, therefore, when he found that this was actually Angela's quarters.

She now stood at her cauldron, brewing a mysterious concoction he had never before seen. Solembum was curled up in a basket close-by, and he almost chuckled when he saw Aru draped around the werecat, fast asleep. Angela looked up with a smile.

"Those two are becoming close friends, I believe. Saphira as well. I can only suppose being an exceptional creature of magic is the reason for their intermittent bonding," she said cheerfully.

"True," Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "What news can you give me?"

"Hmm... I can give you news about all sorts of matters."

"Okay... what news from the battle's aftermath?" Harry asked deliberately.

"Ah, yes! That old thing! Good, for the most part. The Urgals were routed, with much praise given to your spell. I must say it _fascinated_ me," Angela beamed. "Quite ingenious, really."

"Eragon killed Durza," Harry said suddenly.

"Yes, he did at that, although he refuses to accept the credit," Angela said, frowning as she added a pinch of some sulphuric powder to her cauldron. It gave an audible hiss in response and unleashed a pillar of dark green smoke.

"What? Why?" Harry asked, confused. He took a seat at her 'dining' table, for want of a better term. It was smaller than most. She didn't seem to care.

"You should ask him. After all, he's the one doing it, not me."

"And if you had to guess?"

Angela grinned. "In that case I would say he believes you deserve the credit."

"Oh, piss on that," Harry scoffed, sounding dismissive. "I didn't draw enough energy and the bastard didn't go down. Simple. He saved me. Just as simple."

"Perhaps," she said distractedly, now sprinkling various other ingredients over the top of her mixture. "But you saved the Varden."

"For all we know the Urgals would have stopped fighting after the Shade was killed."

"That's speculative, and nothing more, I'm afraid. You're just going to have to accept that," Angela told him.

Harry thought for a moment. "You said 'good, for the most part'? What was bad?"

"Well, you already know about Ajihad. _That_ by itself would be a serious problem, although Jörmundur has taken temporary command until Brom is back on his feet. It's nothing serious," she added, catching his look of grave concern, "just a little concussion. He'll be fine. Your friend Murtagh, on the other hand..."

"What happened to Murtagh?" Harry asked, alarmed.

Angela looked at him consolingly. "Harry, I want you to know that it wasn't your fault-"

"What. Happened?" Harry asked slowly. He would accept no bullshit on this point.

Angela blinked, before turning her back on him. "When you cast that magic every idle weapon raised itself up and began to attack any Urgal within sight. Unfortunately, Durza then destroyed these-"

"I know all this," Harry said impatiently.

"Well, what you may not know is that the pulse of energy momentarily knocked the stuffing out of everybody fighting for our side. It also knocked Brom unconscious, which meant that the last of his energy was depleted."

Harry realised then what she was talking about. "His wards. I thought he had to retract them before that already?"

"No. It may be that he thought those of us who are proficient with magic could defend ourselves, but Murtagh could not. His remained... until that incident occurred."

"And then what?" Harry asked, feeling greatly anxious.

"He took the full brunt of a powerful incantation to the face and body... one of dark fire," Angela said lowly.

"What! You mean 'brisingr'?" Harry demanded, waking up the slumbering pair in the centre. Aru yawned and promptly jumped onto his shoulder, but Harry took no notice. It was second nature to him now.

"_Good morning."_

Harry ignored him. "Angela?" he asked sharply.

Slowly, the witch nodded. "Eragon and Arya are staying by his side, but I fear their efforts won't be enough. We're losing him."


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

**Chapter Twenty Three – An Old Friend Lost**

* * *

In hindsight, Harry should have been expecting such a horrific scene.

Yet, despite that, he was visibly appalled by the wounds his friend bore. Murtagh had truly been stricken by 'dark' fire, as Angela had aptly named it. His skin was blackened and charred along one entire half, the charcoaled appearance culminating just below his collarbone with a surface not unlike burnt firewood. Besides that, red and pink scorch marks coated his left leg, giving the outer layer of skin a bubbled appearance, parts of which were white, strewn by innumerable, poisonous-looking blisters. Worse still was the fact that he had been wearing armour; parts of the steeled interior had melted and reshaped with the heat, moulding into unrecognisable heaps of metal that were engraved upon his torso.

Judging from the wounds, Harry didn't see him lasting the night. Parts of the metal had scorched him, but since the steel wouldn't melt unless at an incredibly high temperature, his skin had also been seared.

"He managed to rip the breastplate off before it spread," Angela said quietly. "If he hadn't he would already be dead. That's why the lines on his hand have been burned off cleanly. The heat of the metal..."

Tears in his eyes, Harry slowly ran his fingers over the wounds, before reapplying the bandages. Understandably, Murtagh was in an almost comatose state, half of his body scorched and half almost pearlescent from loss of blood.

"If the heat was great enough to do this, his lung hasn't escaped unaffiliated," Harry croaked. "I might be able to help cut away and replenish the damaged tissue, but I really don't know enough to not worry about making things worse... he's lost far too much blood as it is. Even if he does wake again, I'm not sure he'll be able to breathe properly. And if, by some miracle, he can... this side of his body will be scarred for the rest of his life."

Angela rested a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Eragon has been to see him several times already. I suspect he is having the same difficulties you are."

"What difficulties?" Harry asked, shaking her hand off.

"Difficulty in letting go," Angela said after some hesitation.

Harry blinked, her words hitting him like a battering ram. Surely there had to be something he could do to help. He couldn't recall ever dealing with such wounds, however. Maybe Madam Pomfrey could have healed him up in a matter of hours, but she was not here.

Harry blinked.

"Kreacher!"

Kreacher arrived on-scene with a pop. The elf's appearance hadn't changed much, although he did look slightly more hunched over than usual, an effect of serious fatigue.

"Master calls, and Kreacher answers."

"Kreacher, how soon can you go back to the Wizarding World?" Harry asked quickly.

Kreacher did not seem to understand. "Master called Kreacher here, but Kreacher does not know where here is. Kreacher must be a bad elf-"

"I refuse to let you punish yourself," Harry said firmly. "But to answer your question... well, I can't do that either. I don't know _where _here is exactly. But you got here, Kreacher. Surely you can disapparate back to Grimmauld Place?"

Kreacher shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and Harry knew he was struggling to obey his order regarding punishment.

"Kreacher? What is it?" Harry demanded.

"Kreacher cannot go back," Kreacher said finally. He looked at Harry with morose eyes. "Kreacher is not yet healthy and the strain would kill him, oh yes... he would surely die..."

Harry sighed and folded his arms. "Okay. And I'm assuming it would exhaust me if I attempted the same feat?"

"Wizards' magic is not like Kreacher's magic, master Harry. Us can apparate where you's cannot. The effort would surely kill poor master."

"Damn it," Harry muttered. "What do I do now?"

"Your people, they know of a cure for an ailment such as this?" Angela asked.

Harry glanced back at her. "Yes, I would imagine so."

"But you've never seen it before yourself?"

"I... maybe, I don't know. I can't remember!" Harry growled, frustrated.

Angela nodded solemnly. "Well, since your soul is now intact again, that would mean your memories are much clearer than before. If you can't remember then I can only assume it's because _these_ exact circumstances are something you have never seen before."

"Great, you know something else about me... somehow..."

"I can sense it," she said simply.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said with an absent heart. "Even if I could remember you couldn't brew the potion in time, could you?"

Angela blinked.

Harry gave a bitter smile. "I can do the same thing, you know."

She gave a solemn nod at that, and his smile dropped entirely. There had to be something else he could do. He was feeling desperate now. Frantically searching his mind. Hoping for an answer. Finding none. Thoughts drifted to and fro. He attempted to sort these into various groups, dispelling what was unneeded. Harry found himself drawn back to his vision, annoyed that he had to take care of it as well as Murtagh. Roran. Carvahall. Katrina. The Ra'zac.

Harry blinked. Surely not...? But... yes.

He had it.

Maybe.

"Stay with him," he told Angela. "Kreacher, go back to the dragonhold and rest!" Harry shouted, sprinting from the room.

* * *

Eragon was frustrated. Perhaps he should have expected such constraints, but arguing with the self-imposed temporary leader of the entire Varden over any specific issue could prove groundless under the least taxing of circumstances. That being said, the current situation was far from relaxing in nature, with many issues and debacles to be sorted before the army of freedom fighters could even contemplate marching north.

Under most cases, Eragon would have let the commanders manage their own affairs, as all had been given specific tasks by Jörmundur and Brom, but this was a contentious issue. It also affected Eragon personally, and he knew Harry would have something to say when he woke up.

"The elite guard need to remain centred in any moving column," Eragon said. "The wounded will have to be carried by caravans and carriages, so they'll need protection in case we're attacked."

Jörmundur shook his head, appearing firm in his decision. "No. That would slow our progress exponentially, and supplies will be short as it is. We have to move with pace, and that means any veterans need to double as scouts to ensure our route can be mapped safely."

"You can't leave the caravans wide open to attack," Eragon argued. "Without the dwarves our numbers are spread too thin and that leaves the most vulnerable in a serious position of danger."

"We won't be leaving them wide open," Jörmundur said sharply. "Du Vrangr Gata will be providing support and there will be plenty of swordsmen in reserve, not part of the scouting corps. And feel free to stick with the caravans if you're that worried. I know they'd welcome your presence.

"The wounded will be encircled within what remains of our forces as a whole," he continued. "At this stage it really doesn't matter because there's nothing more I _can_ do. We have to hope the king doesn't attack, because if he does it won't matter how elaborate our defences are. We won't stand a chance."

Eragon sighed and shook his head, staring with narrowed eyes at a spot on the floor. He didn't look reprimanded, but more like an equal, deep in thought. "At the very least I'll be instructing Saphira to stay close to the middle when we don't scout ahead. Hopefully her presence will be enough to deter any would-be attackers."

Jörmundur nodded. "That should help."

Suddenly, Brom came bursting through the entrance to the command tent. "There you are!" he exclaimed, spotting Eragon. "Come with me. Now."

Eragon frowned at Jörmundur and followed Brom outside. The old man didn't even bother to check that he was pursuing, but rushed away. Eragon raced through a frenzy of activity as the Varden prepared for evacuation all around him, storing supplies in sturdy containers and gathering precious belongings together.

"Hey, wait up!" he demanded.

Brom ignored him.

"_What do you think is happening?"_

"_I do not know," _Saphira said. _"But he seems agitated." _

Eragon snorted. He was ready for any trouble, but if that was the problem Brom would have informed Jörmundur. Besides, the men around him didn't seem agitated – more than they already were – so he loosened his grip on Zar'roc. Brom led him to the armoury, where Eragon was shocked to see Harry having a heated discussion with the blacksmith.

"What the hell are you doing?" Eragon demanded, noting that his friend was also garbed in leather armour.

Harry turned to face him, looking deathly pale from tiredness. "Finally! What took you so long?" he demanded of Brom. "And good, you're already armed."

Brom glowered. "I don't follow your _orders_. Eragon, you're here to speak some sense into this complete ass. Tell him to go back to bed and rest before I knock him out cold."

Harry scoffed. "Ignore him, Eragon. You're here because I need your help."

"This is your last warning-"

"Help with what?" Eragon asked sharply, overruling him.

Brom shut his eyes dramatically and hit his own face with both palms.

Harry ignored him. "I had another vision a little while ago. We need to leave."

Eragon started. "What, you mean-"

"Obviously not."

"Then... ah. And the only person would be..."

"Exactly. You can't tell me you refuse to help, considering _that."_

"Dare I ask 'why'?"

"Only one person the king would have trusted."

"Not even a person... fine. I'm in."

"What the _hell_ are the two of you talking about?" Brom exclaimed, looking physically pained. "How did either of you work out what any of that... that _babble_ meant?!"

"Mental communication," Eragon retorted, rolling his eyes as though it were obvious.

Harry had used both spoken words and mental images to clearly convey his intentions as quickly as possible, something the two of them had been experimenting with for quite some time. He showed Eragon the finer points of his vision, glossing over the least important aspects of sitting and waiting, whilst focusing upon the trouble Carvahall found itself in. Eragon thought he wanted to abandon the Varden at first, but now he realised how silly that had seemed. The only person both of them were willing to temporarily leave in order to help was...

"Roran?" Brom spluttered, blinking at Harry's revelation. "You can't be serious. We left him those letters for a reason! He needs to help himself!"

"Bollocks to that," Harry growled. "I can apparate again, so I'd rather not take the risk. Give me an hour."

"You look ready to drop dead," Brom said with no decorum. "In an hour you very well could."

"In one hour the two of us will tear that entire damned company to pieces and rip that creature apart from the inside-out," Harry declared, a vindictiveness emphasising his sincerity. "Let me borrow some of your energy and this will be a whole lot smoother."

Brom snorted, crossing his arms in derision. "I'm adverse to the entire idea of you two going."

"Oh, Brom," Harry chided, rolling his eyes. "After this entire time do you _still_ not realise you can't stop us from leaving?"

Eragon smirked.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Brom muttered, causing Harry to chuckle. He knew they were right. Harry proceeded to tell him how his apparition ability had returned, which would let him reach Carvahall in an instant. Nobody mentioned it, as Brom knew this mission would take priority, but all three were aware of how fundamental this could be in helping the Varden reach Du Weldenvarden.

"Don't give me that look," Harry requested, catching his mentor's expression. "I can only side-along apparate one, maybe two people. _Possibly _three, at the most. And I have no idea if it'll be less or more strenuous with a dragon involved, so it'll just be the two of us this time. I can't move the entire Varden."

"Why not let someone go with you who _isn't _exhausted?" Brom grumbled, conceding his point.

Harry tsked. "Simple, really. Eragon and I know Carvahall. Nobody else does. We're both Dragon Riders, and thus much stronger than anyone else you could muster up. We've both fought the Ra'zac and know its tactics. Roran means more to us – especially Eragon, for obvious reasons – than anyone here, especially a bunch of strangers who don't even know him."

"He'll want to take that girl Katrina," Brom said. "I hope you're up to the task of carrying both of them."

Harry hesitated, before nodding firmly. "Consider it done."

"I don't consider it done until it is," Brom retorted with some good-nature. "Don't take any unnecessary risks, either of you. And send me a message via scrying once you have the town secured. _Do not_ engage the enemy directly."

"Huh," Eragon said simply.

"What?" Brom demanded, sounding weary.

"I'm surprised you're letting us go so easily, is all."

"It's not like I have a bloody choice in the matter!" Brom complained. "So I'd rather tell you to stay alive. The energy stored in Aren will replenish both of you, and there'll still be enough left for a good while. Take it, then get out of my sight before I report this bullshit idea to Jörmundur. _He_ would clap you in irons before letting you go."

"Then it's a good thing you're not him," Harry muttered, reaching for the ring's power as Brom rolled his eyes. He took his fill, feeling satiated from the boost in energy, and then waited for Eragon to do the same.

"_Aru, I'm sorry I can't take you with me. I'm still slightly weakened and I don't know if I could manage a dragon. Besides, you're still not ready to fight." _

Arucane was unhappy at that. _"If you hurt yourself again I'll cut off your balls." _

Harry choked. _"Aru!"_

Aru snorted in sardonic amusement and wished him luck, before cutting the mental connection for what may be quite a while.

"What's the matter with you?" Brom grumbled.

"Arucane just threatened to castrate me if I injure myself."

"I'm not surprised," Brom said, narrowing his eyes as he accepted Aren back from Eragon. "That dragon seems to have picked up a lot of dialogue from your own world, and it appears quite different to that of this one."

Harry shook his head. "I'll keep that in mind. Are you ready?"

Eragon nodded. "_Saphira, did you-?"_

"_I have heard all, little one," _Saphira said in an understanding tone. _"I hope you rescue your cousin, but be wary. The king would raze the entire village in an instant if it meant spiting the both of you."_

Eragon frowned. _"What are you saying?"_

Saphira appeared to hesitate. _"Only that all plans must be revisited at least once. Do not be surprised when your own requires some adjustments. I can see what they may be, but do not know enough to tell you outright. You need to learn how to think on your feet if you're to lead this merry band of squabbling steel-stick-wielders." _

"_We're a little away from that, but thank you. Be safe."_

"_And you, little one."_

Eragon felt the connection sever. It would be less painful this way.

"Are you ready?" Harry repeated, raising his eyebrows.

Eragon rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Then grab my arm and take a deep breath. This is going to feel a little strange."

Eragon did so. "I hope you have a plan to convince the townspeople you don't want to kill them."

"Why would they ever get that impression?" Harry asked innocently.

"You fired a patronus at a group of them last time!"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll think of something." _Now, let me see my destination. _

He focused firmly upon Carvahall, wanting to make sure nothing would prevent him from finally accomplishing this feat. With a rush of determination and a supreme feeling of deliberation, Harry reached for the magic he would need and turned into darkness, compressed by an air-sucking tube of discomfort and leaving the sound of a whip-crack in his wake.

* * *

The two Riders 'landed' in the Spine just short of Carvahall. Harry felt a little dizzy, having forgotten how disorientating apparition could be, while Eragon tripped and sprawled on the ground. He swore and quickly jumped to his feet, wincing.

"That, was unpleasant."

"Yes, it was," Harry grimaced. A sudden whiff of smoke reached him, and he quickly employed a bubblehead charm for the pair of them, despite Eragon's protestations.

"What's this for?"

"The smoke. If they've set the forest on fire we could get caught in the middle. One deep breath and you're dead without this," Harry said ominously.

Eragon took one nevertheless, discovering that the charm would allow a steady stream of fresh air to reach his face without constraint. "Huh. Your people truly know some useful spells."

"As do yours," Harry muttered in a distracted tone. He poured a few drops of water on his palm, forming a small pool, before proceeding to scry Roran. He saw that both Roran and Katrina were in their earlier position, overlooking the village. The fire must have caught their attention.

"That idiot," Eragon whispered furiously, figuring the same. "He should have stayed in cover."

"He's like you – too curious for his own good."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr Let's-touch-the-cursed-goblet."

Harry winced. "That was low. Besides, it was more like a pot than anything."

"I'll make sure to remember for next time."

An audible crack silenced both of them and led to swords being drawn. Both were pointed in the direction the sound had come from, but a quick revealing charm said it had been no more than a hare. Harry sheathed Aiedail. Taking on a serious visage, he crouched and shuffled to the edge of the tree-line, passing through a significant amount of undergrowth. Eragon quickly joined him, before gasping and muttering a few choice curses.

"I guess it's not just the forest," Harry whispered.

His apparition had brought them closer to Eragon's old farm than the centre of the village, giving them a clear view of Palancar Valley. It was impossible to predict, but at least two-thirds of that area was now engulfed by flames, including farms scattered in every direction the eye could see. Eragon spotted a small squad of soldiers forcing a frightened family into the back of a rough wagon and made to help them, but Harry stalled him.

"What are you doing?" Eragon hissed.

"Think about this, Eragon," Harry said gently. "We can't take those soldiers now. If we do the Ra'zac will be alerted to our presence. I could silence the area and even put up wards, but I can bet they've a schedule worked out for the patrols in case someone attempted a move like this. If they don't report we're in trouble."

Eragon was silent for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "We can steal their uniforms."

Harry grimaced. "Not a bad thought, but it wouldn't work. If there's a magician searching each returning patrol just in case of that possibility..."

"The game's up," Eragon sighed, looking deflated. "They've probably got the townspeople rounded up as hostages, anyway. We need to find Roran before we can rescue them."

"We need a plan," Harry said, musing over the available courses of action. "If one of us manages to draw the soldiers away-"

"Won't work," Eragon said immediately, shaking his head. "The Ra'zac would start killing people as soon as it realised what we were doing. Maybe... if we were to wait for the cover of night."

"It can see in the dark," Harry reminded him. "Besides, I doubt its patience will last that long. If the patrols don't find Roran by then you can bet your life they'll start killing hostages."

"Maybe a mock surrender-"

"Not a chance you'll get close enough to kill it, and even if you did, the soldiers might not stop." Harry hesitated. "There is one possibility."

Eragon frowned, then his eyes widened in shock. "Not a chance."

"They won't kill him," Harry said, attempting to placate his friend. "They'll lead him out of the town and then..."

"Then what?" Eragon demanded, knowing he had also reached the same conclusion.

"Then they'll torch it for not revealing his whereabouts. Damn it!"

Eragon turned to look back at the wagon for a few moments. "I think we'd be best sneaking into the village and freeing the hostages, before attacking directly. If we have an escape plan set in motion you can torch everything, including the soldiers."

Harry stared at him, dumbfounded.

Eragon grimaced. "Saphira told me we may have to change our plan, and I think I know why. Even if we rescue Carvahall, what do you think will happen when the king learns Roran has managed to escape and that the Ra'zac is dead?"

"He'll attack again," Harry muttered.

"Forget the damned buildings; he'll burn the _people_ down! We have to get them out of here," Eragon said. "It's the only way. We _need_ the cover of night."

"And where can we take them?" Harry asked, sighing. "I can barely manage to take more than two people with me at a time! There are hundreds down there! Even multiple trips would take days, and by that time-"

"You misunderstand," Eragon said quietly. "We have to _lead _them out. We can report our progress to Brom and carry on from there, but I'm not leaving those people here to die."

Harry gazed at Eragon intently for a few moments, before slowly nodding. "Neither am I. Despite our troubles, those people took me in as one of their own for a time. I would still be there, but for that ass Sloan and the Ra'zac. We'll get them out. Don't worry. Saphira can help protect the Varden, and they have hundreds of soldiers. The villagers don't."

"Ah, yes. What about Sloan?" Eragon inquired.

"The Ra'zac has him," Harry said, wincing as he remembered the torture.

"Is he still alive?"

"For now." Thinking quickly, Harry counted the time since he had seen Murtagh and put it at thirty minutes. "Eragon, we can't afford to wait. I have another purpose for coming here, and it needs dealt with before we can lead the townspeople somewhere safe."

Eragon raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

Harry quickly did so.

Eragon's mouth was agape. "Harry... this is a massive gamble. If it isn't here, then..."

"I know," Harry said, frustrated. "But it has to be. The properties of his wounds were similar. If we can find it..."

"You're just assuming the Ra'zac carries a magical balm to treat Seithr Oil burns," Eragon said sceptically. "Why it would, I have no idea."

"Because the king wouldn't want any valuable prisoners killed!" Harry exclaimed. "But... don't take this the wrong way, Garrow wasn't valuable to him, or to those bastards. If it wanted to torture Roran the king would ensure there are ways to prevent him from dying, if not from being incapacitated."

"And you think it'll just hand that ointment over?" Eragon asked incredulously.

"Obviously not. I'm going to kill it first."

"Get in line."

Harry snorted. "I'd apparate us directly into the town, but I'm not sure how many trips I can manage without passing out."

Eragon frowned. "Didn't Brom give you some of Aren's energy?"

"You know both types of magic aren't linked. In this case I still feel dizzy, so I won't risk splinching either of us."

"Splinching?"

"If my concentration is off we might disapparate, but leave a part or two behind," Harry said distastefully.

Eragon thought for a moment, then spluttered in understanding. "That's... horrific."

"Quite."

Employing as much stealth as possible, Harry followed Eragon's lead as the pair of Riders trailed the marauding soldiers back towards Carvahall. Despite having spent time in the valley, the fact still remained that Eragon had lived here most of his life, and knew the surrounding area much better than almost anybody. As it was, they were able to sidestep any potential hazards with rudimentary ease, particularly the raging fires that continued to burn away at the heart of the Spine nearby. On the way both communicated through their mental link, devising strategies and back-up plans for freeing the villagers and subduing the soldiers nearby. The soldiers had left the farms closer to the town free of the fires for now, so as to not put themselves in harm's way.

It was also important to steer clear of the Ra'zac's tent for the time being, although Harry would have bet his last crown it would be patrolling come night-time. It seemed to bear a particular affinity for smelling out its prey, and Harry knew damn well it would recognise him after what happened in Teirm. If he was spotted it would probably conclude with a battle royale, and with the villagers in danger that was simply not an option. It wasn't ideal, but with a combination of confounding, stunning and compulsion charms they could carve a path straight through the soldiers cleanly enough, provided they weren't spotted.

For that reason, Harry cast a pair of disillusionment charms over the both of them. Suitably hidden, they carefully meandered around a preliminary checkpoint, where four guards with spears and pikes were stationed beside a makeshift wooden barricade. Harry saw that several bore wounds, and could only surmise the townspeople had struggled, at least for a little while before being overpowered. Hopefully they were busy plotting a more elaborate defensive scheme, and if so, he knew exactly the person they would go to first.

* * *

Roran was hiding in Horst's forge. Once the soldiers began to set light to the forest he considered there to be no other option. Even the clearing they had chosen to stay in was not safe from the towering blaze. Katrina was with him, both having snuck back into town once dark had fallen only an hour previous. The route was well-guarded, but a little knowledge went far in any terse situation, and he knew Carvahall like the back of his hand.

Horst agreed to hide the pair, knowing full well what it would mean to his own life if they were caught. Having heard what had happened to Sloan from the rumour-mill working overtime – Birgit had apparently heard the screams when fetching a pail of water from the town well – Roran had convinced the learned blacksmith to gather some of the men most inclined to fight, and here they stood, scrunched together around a bared wooden bench. There was a map of the town sitting atop the surface, complete with markings of where the soldiers were positioned and where they had herded many of the townspeople to use as bargaining chips.

"We're too late," Horst declared amicably. "The creature gave a deadline of dawn for your retrieval. If you're not delivered personally by that time every single one of those hostages is as good as dead. We're only free because we've been forced to 'help' with the search parties."

Roran nodded, face inclined with grave concern. "I understand. And I won't let anyone else take the punishment for me, but we have a problem. The Ra'zac is ruthless. Even if I turn myself over there's nothing to stop it executing every bystander in the town for wanton bloodlust. If that happens no one will escape their fate."

There were some mumblings at this declaration. Many knew his words were true, but that hardly made them any easier to bear. These were simple farmers and merchants for the most part; armed with little but pitchforks, torches and sharpened spades they couldn't hope to match the brute force of Galbatorix's troops in the village. If they fought there was a real chance of death, yet if they did not that seemed to become nothing short of certain. Not one person in that room believed they would be spared if Roran was handed over. Not now. Sloan's treatment had been quite the blunder on behalf of their horrific enemy, as now they knew the lengths to which it would go in pursuit of its quarry.

There was a strained silence. Some of the men present – and indeed, women, as there was no safety to be had for anyone if the Empire won, regardless of gender – exchanged significant glances. One by one, they nodded in quiet acknowledgement.

"I guess that's it," Horst said quietly. "We're fighting."

"May the gods watch over us," Albriech muttered. Horst was allowing his two sons to fight, a surprising move to many as it would leave him childless if both died, at least until Elain give birth.

"Do we go now?" Quimby asked.

"No," Roran said firmly. "We need a plan if we're to take these soldiers. I recommend breaking into groups and picking them off from behind. If we lure them around the houses we can easily subdue them quickly, silently and efficiently."

"Trickery," Gedric scoffed. He was dispassionate regarding subterfuge, a belief reinforced when someone had stolen his leather hides several months ago.

"It's trickery or be killed," Roran snapped. "We're not fighting based on numbers or experience. We _can't. _It has to be using our knowledge of the town, or we're all dead."

Gedric swallowed nervously, and nodded in reluctant acceptance.

"Is there any real chance of relief from nearby towns like Therinsford? It's possible they've suffered the same fate and have families on the run," Albriech said.

"Not a chance," Horst told his son firmly. "If the Ra'zac attacked another town we can assume its inhabitants have been slaughtered. They didn't have the value of time that we do, brief as it may be."

"Besides, if anyone did survive a potential assault they would never follow their attackers," Roran added. "Especially not if they had a family to flee with. No, we're on our own."

"Damn it," Albriech muttered, fearful. "How about Surda or the Varden? Surely they have wind of what's happening up north."

"The Varden could be five hundred leagues or more from here, for all we know," Horst grumbled. "I doubt they're going to risk giving away their location by marching north to help the likes of us, not when they have bigger things to worry about. Even if they did march to our aid, they would never make it in time. And Surda doesn't directly oppose the king, in any case."

Roran sighed with aggravation. "This is butting heads and words, and nothing more. Why are we all hiding from the obvious truth staring us in the face? Even if we beat these soldiers back more will come. Too many to fight. We have to take our families and get the hell out of here. Now."

"And where would we go?" Morn asked, shocked. "Many of us depend on the town to survive. _We_ can't take our livelihoods with us. We'd be dead in a fortnight on our own wares!"

"Then we _don't_ rely on our own wares!" Roran exclaimed. "We pool our resources, form a convoy and flee! It's a risk, sure-"

"An unnecessary risk," Quimby declared, to some calls of agreement. "Therinsford or some other town will take us in."

"They don't have the spare room. And if they did, we'd be killing them as well. Not that there's any guarantee none of these towns have been razed already," Roran said.

"If we give the townspeople the choice-"

"You have no choice."

All heads turned at the emergence of a new voice, one Roran had not heard in many moons. He stiffened, and his heart seemed to pause for a split second, before accelerating at a rapid pace. He slowly looked towards the entrance to the forge, and there he found both his long-lost cousin and newfound friend standing together, looking for all the world as though they had seen the hellish effects of war and suffered more than any could dare imagine. Both were fraught with cuts, gashes and bruises, some evidently healed and others not, and both bore expressions that were contemplative in nature, but guarded and hidden in plain sight.

"You!" Quimby shouted, eyes wide. "You have a nerve coming back here!"

Roran punched the older man on the arm, hard, drawing a pained exclamation.

"Would you kindly shut up?" Roran demanded, furious. "Do you want to draw the soldiers onto us?"

"Oh, no worries there," Harry deadpanned. "I've already put a silencing ward around the entire room. Let them vent as much as they want. No one outside can hear what's being said."

There was silence for a moment, before his invitation paved the way for an explosion of angry shouting and hurling of insults from several people all at once. Some brandished their makeshift weapons in a threatening way. Horst groaned, burying his head in his hands, whilst Harry and Eragon stood there, smirking and scoffing in tandem.

"-murderer!"

"Oh, please. As if I haven't heard that one before," Harry said with a roll of his eyes.

"-traitor!"

"Same again. Be more creative, why don't you?"

"-scum-riddled goat-son!"

Harry frowned. "That's a new one."

"SHUT UP!" Horst roared.

The clamour abated after a minute or two, and many of the Carvahallans had the good grace to look flustered, embarrassed even, in some cases. Roran was mightily impressed that neither of his two friends had risen to the bait, and seemed to be taking the whole scenario in their stride. He was worried about how... _different_ Eragon seemed. His eyes were sunken, far-off, as his expression sharp. Roran knew all too well that his cousin was a new man, but for better or worse, he could not yet tell.

"I think I speak for _most_ of us," Horst said, glaring daggers at Quimby, "when I say it's good to see you two again and I trust you're well."

"That depends on how you define 'well'. I'm about ready to keel over," Harry said, scratching his head.

"The sooner the better," Quimby muttered.

"Shut up!" Horst shouted instantly.

Quimby tutted, but looked away.

"Look, if it's your time of the month I can always come back," Harry said, pointing his thumb at the door behind him.

"How dare-"

"Quimby, I'm warning you: not another word," Horst growled.

"But he just-"

"Stop provoking him!"

With a growl of frustration Roran swung his hammer at one of the wooden beams beside him, spurring a dull thunk that caught everyone's attention.

"All of you can stop talking. No more acting like children. No more squabbling. No more insults and no more procrastinating. We need a plan. Now."

"That's true," Harry nodded. "And if anyone _does_ decide to speak out of turn again they're going to see just what I can do with this wand. And believe me, I'm not referring to magic."

"On a _different_ note, it's good to see you all again," Eragon said. "Really, it is. Just don't be surprised that I'm not going around the room to embrace anyone yet. I know you distrust us, probably for good reason, and we have more pressing matters at hand."

"Yes, we do. But I think we all need to know where you two have been-"

"Brom helped us escape with the dragon that hatched for Eragon, known as Saphira. We decided to hunt the Ra'zac, before losing their trail. I killed one in Teirm by mistake when I was fighting a Shade. Along the way we decided there was a need to join the Varden, kill the king and, you know, _free the land. _Before that happened I helped lead a heist of Urû'baen, whereby we stole the last two remaining dragon eggs in existence, one of which hatched for me a short time later. His name is Arucane. Sometime after reaching the Varden's hideout (you'll understand if I don't say where that is – I don't trust half of you as far as I could throw you) the king sent an army to attack us. We destroyed it, killed the Shade in the process and then realised the Varden needed to evacuate. At the same time I had a vision of what was happening here, so we used magic to travel the substantial distance and help _you_ people escape, despite your distrust of us still existing."

They say silence is golden. They also say, on occasion, that Tywin Lannister shit gold. If, at that moment, the man had existed in the world of Alagaësia and was responsible for this golden silence, there is no doubt he would have been found dead in an incessant pool of his own valuable excretion.

_Why did Petunia ever let Dudley read those books? _Harry mused. _Oh, well. _

Harry was forced to poke Quimby in the ribs with his wand when he started laughing hysterically, causing the man to seethe in anger.

"I warned you," Harry shrugged.

"Err... Eragon, what's your version of events?" Horst half-pleaded, completely lost for words.

"The exact same, though I would add that our dragons are not here with us today. Those of you familiar with the tales of the Riders will know of the Gëdway Ignasia, which we can both present to you as proof of this story. Furthermore... we're willing to provide you with a short magical demonstration if it becomes necessary."

"Emphasis on the 'short'," Harry added. "We're not long from that battle I mentioned earlier."

"_What the hell is your problem?" _Eragon asked mentally, sounding nonplussed. _"You've regressed into a child in the space of ten minutes." _

"_What can I say? Arseholes like Quimby tend to bring out the worst in me."_

"_Well, can you please knock it off? We need to get these people out of here and the last thing we need is a declarative duel." _

"_Sure thing, boss."_

"_Need I remind you of your rush to find that balm for Murtagh?"_

"_Relax. These people need to blow off steam before we can help each other. That's all I'm doing. You don't think I just spewed that story out to frighten the daylights out of them, do you?"_

"_Err..."_

"_Don't answer that."_

"_Can Murtagh afford to wait?" _

"_In his condition a day might mean life or death, but half an hour won't change a thing. I know I'm being immature, but I'm not about to show these people my more serious side just yet. And you can forgive me on both of those counts – they tried to kill me last time, remember."_

Eragon conceded that point with somewhat good grace. _"But if we don't earn their respect-"_

"_We'll earn that when we help them escape." _

"_Fine. Just try to be the better man for the nonce, would you?"_

Harry shifted uncomfortably. _"You're right. I'm sorry."_

"Was that what I think it was?" Roran asked with an air of unease.

"It was. Magicians can communicate through their minds alone," Eragon said.

Eragon watched as the men and women he had grown up with descended into a small series of individual verbal arguments. Nothing was too heated for a cause of worry, but it was still a great shame. He had hoped the lot of them would see reason when it presented itself upon a silver platter, but that was not proving the case. Perhaps a little more insight was required.

"How have things gone in our absence?" he asked.

"Not too badly," Horst said. "After Garrow... well, after you left, things returned as close to normal as they might, besides the vicious rumour mill."

"Forget rumours," Harry said. "We're here to provide you with facts and a chance to escape with your lives, if you still want them. Regardless of whether you believe our story, you know leaving this town is a downright necessity now. The Imperials have been burning villages up and down the great plains for weeks on-end now."

Horst's eyes bugged out. "My gods! We thought the Urgals were responsible for that destruction!"

"They are," Eragon said. "Galbatorix used his Shade to ensnare an army of Kull, and they attacked the Varden only a short while ago. The army Harry mentioned certainly belonged to the king, but it was not one of humankind. They're foul beasts in their entirety, and I would see them all destroyed."

His words regarding the fate of other villages stilled any other discussion in the room, and now many of the townspeople stood with folded arms, staring at the ground or at the two Riders with a mixture of apathy and desperation colouring their eyes.

"Listen," Harry began, "there's no doubt that you have cause to be angry. You have no reason to trust me, and you may even want to kill me. But you have to trust Eragon, of all people. You knew him as a child, and now as a man. Did he not hunt for the village when supplies were running short, risking his own life in hazardous conditions? Did he not help with the labour around the town when required? And didn't he flee his own home in order to protect each and every one of you? If you can answer each of those questions with a 'yes', then you will know we're here to help. If you can't... I'm afraid you might be so blinded by fear you can't recognise reason when it's really the only clear explanation."

"Forget distrust," Quimby whispered, and Harry knew they had won. "What can we _do?"_

"We can fight," Horst said in his gruff tones. "I have a family, including a child on the way, and I will _not_ let the Empire take them. I believe our friends here, and they _are_ friends. If the soldiers are destroying towns and farms on the king's _orders_, we have no choice but to run. They'll only come back in greater numbers. For too long has Galbatorix presided himself above us. For too long has he left us to rot in the wilderness. No longer! We fight for our freedom!"

Harry nodded in appreciation as Horst's words were greeted by rapt clamours. It was always fortuitous when you had people who knew how to play to a crowd.

"Horst, pass me that map, would you? Let's get started."

* * *

In Carvahall, besieged by the foul Ra'zac and his pet soldiers, night had truly fallen. There was no sound in the entire town, save for the chirping of crickets and clinking of armoured patrols marching through the cobbled streets. Four guards patrolled the area around the town well, the centre of Carvahall, in separate groups of two.

"A still night?" a subordinate asked his commander, as both groups came together.

The commander grunted. "I don't like it. They usually make some defiant ruckus."

"Yes, sir. Although I prefer it-"

The soldier let out a grunt as his heart was wrenched from its main arteries, and he soon bled to death internally. The commander couldn't react, for he was struck between the eyes by a well-aimed arrow, and fell to the ground without so much as a gasp of shock.

One of the two remaining spun around, brandishing his spear, and caught an arrow in the throat for his trouble. He collapsed heavily, and died with wide eyes as his lungs drowned in their own blood. That settled it for the most intelligent soldier, clearly, who turned tail and try to run, about to cry for help. He never took more than a step, as a flash of green light illuminated his plates of steel in the darkness, and his torso split open with a loud crack, splattering the street below him with guts and entrails. He raised a trembling hand to the fist-sized hole next to his heart, and died instantly.

That all happened in a span no longer than eight seconds, owing to the accuracy of Eragon's archery skills and Harry's proficiency with spell-work.

"All right, move up," Harry said quietly, signalling.

As silently as possible with heavy boots, Horst and the ensemble of village militia scurried past the Riders, springing their plan into action. For his part, Horst stared at the dead for a few seconds, before shaking his head in disbelief.

"I see you were telling the truth after all," he stated blankly.

"You mean you didn't believe us?" Harry asked, grinning.

Horst chuckled and winked at the pair of them. "You'll never know."

Eragon didn't answer. He was too busy trying not to throw up, for he had just killed two men with the ease of effortlessness. It was not the first time, as he fought soldiers in Teirm, but then it had not been so simplistic as now. Harry gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"Don't worry. You'll be okay. It sickens me too. Just walk it off."

Eragon gave a weak smile, and dropped the visage quickly. "Let's go."

Harry gave Horst a parting wish of luck, and followed Eragon around to the western side of Carvahall. They encountered no opposition, as the main contingent of Imp forces was occupying the southern barricades. This was their plan. The patrols in the centre had to be disabled as soon as the shift changed, which would give them half an hour before a report was due to the company commander. This was the only window of opportunity they had to free the remaining villagers, and escort them to the edge of the Spine, out of sight. Roran and Horst would be taking care of that, however, as those two were more skilled fighters than any of the other townspeople, and Eragon and Harry had a different task to perform.

Finding what they were looking for, Harry cast the magic and vacated the area, meeting Eragon in the centre.

"If only you could cast that... 'locomotor' spell again," Eragon observed.

"It can only be used on inanimate objects," Harry said. "The soldiers would get suspicious if their swords started to float before their very eyes, and those are the only real weapons in the entire village."

"So, kill half of them and _then_ use it?"

Harry grinned. "If I'm not exhausted by then. Come on."

Climbing the rooftops was a relatively easy task with their agility, so that was considered the best option for such great marksmen. Still, care was needed when finding the best possible spot, as one slip-up (literally, perhaps) could end disastrously.

* * *

Nearby, Roran led Katrina and the others to the designated safe-spot, where they were instructed to remain until relieved, or an hour had passed, in which case they were to flee for Therinsford alone. Roran was uneasy, having just killed for the first time. The guards hadn't provided any resistance. They were taken by surprise. He knew that Horst was in a similar mind at the moment.

"Be careful," Katrina said gently, kissing him, and his qualms were forgotten.

_Would I do it again, for her? Always._

Roran responded in turn, and broke from her reluctantly. "I will. I have too many questions for my cousin to die now."

"And you better share the answers with me," she half-joked.

"Of course I will," Roran smiled. "How could I resist that-"

Horst coughed.

"I'd better go," Roran said.

"Yes, quite," Horst grumbled, grabbing him by the arm and leading him away. "Come on."

Roran waved at Katrina, before shrugging out of the blacksmith's grip and walking next to him; or rather, hunching. They got into position, aware of other groups doing the same nearby. This wasn't going to be easy, even with Harry and Eragon at their side. They had no real weapons. Most of the men were armed with canes and pieces of glass. They carried thick dinner plates as shields, and had no armour to speak of.

Standing against a wall, Roran chanced a peek around the corner, where he spotted the soldiers laughing merrily around several makeshift fires. Many stood, however, and patrolled the area around the Ra'zac's tent. Outside that, Sloan was strung up.

Or what was left of him.

"Do you see what they've nailed him up with?" Horst muttered from beside his ear, causing him to blink in surprise.

Roran looked, and shuddered. His palms had been stuck to a large wooden beam by his own rib-bones, sharpened to pierce skin as easily as butter. From the distance it was hard to tell, but Roran would have betted the butcher was missing both eyes, if the rivers of blood running from the lidless sockets were anything to go by. Wanting to see no more, he turned his head away, covering it once again.

"Do you still feel guiltless?" he asked Horst, the demand without energy.

"For that? No. He doesn't deserve it. But he's been a blight on our town for years, so I don't feel guilty for handing him over. I'm not the monster who tortured and depraved him."

Roran was unwilling to discuss the point any further, so he let it become moot. Killing these bastards and escaping was all that mattered now. If their plan had gone according to script, the soldiers would be encircled by groups of villagers and their own barricades, meaning that escape was impossible.

"Time to rise up," he said with determination, gripping his hammer tightly and remembering the old story.

* * *

Beside him, Eragon nocked an arrow. The two of them were crouched. As soon as they stood, every target below would be in range, and the ruse would be up.

"The Ra'zac is a terrible commander," Harry muttered. "Keeping all its forces grouped up? What folly."

"It didn't count on us," Eragon said with strength of mind. "And I'm not complaining."

Harry nodded. "True. Aim for the camp-fire. It should cause a knock-on explosion. I'll get the tent."

"Watch you don't hit Sloan."

"Screw Sloan," Harry muttered, and that was that. "Good luck, my friend."

"Let's send them to hell."

One deep breath later, and they rose together, into the night and fires of death and destruction once again.

"Brisingr!"

"_Confringo!"_

Eragon's arrow, lit an eerie sapphire, hit its mark well. The campfire was doused with magical energy, and an additional helping of fire spread over such a small area was simply terrific. A blue explosion was the result, engulfing no fewer than four soldiers in one, rip-roaring torrent of flame. Their screams haunted the night-air.

Harry's jet of green light did not perforate the tent as he had hoped, but exploded on impact, setting the entire structure alight. Soldiers all around began to shout in confusion as the blackness was illuminated for all to see. Eragon's fire began to spread, and many hurried to escape its roaring bulk. Nearby, the Ra'zac burst from the tent, screaming in fury as its cloak caught fire. It quickly ripped half away and dropped it, before running into the darkness. Their magic prevented it from escaping, however, as all routes away had been warded as a contingency plan for such emergencies.

The Ra'zac howled, and the soldiers began to fire arrows. Before ducking, Harry fired a jet of sparks into the sky, which was the signal Roran had been waiting for. The soldiers, busy firing on the two above them, missed the forty on the ground. In every direction villagers poured into the area, roaring in tandem. As guards turned in one direction to repel an assault, they were attacked by the emergence of another group from behind, both sides, and above, as Eragon began to fire arrows once again.

Drawing his sword and pocketing the wand in his hand, Harry jumped off the roof and landed stiffly, before being forced to immediately react; two opponents attacked him together, one swinging high and one thrusting for his chest with a spear. In one movement, Harry parried the sweeping blow away and sidestepped the lunge. Almost instantly, the guard holding a sword struck again, forcing him backwards with a succession of blows. The spearman quickly found his balance, and then rejoined his companion in attacking Harry's left flank. They pushed him towards a house nearby, until his back was almost flat against the surface.

Smirking in believed victory, the spearman thrust directly for his face. At the last possible second, however, Harry ducked and rolled to the left. He ended the manoeuvre with an attack of his own. Coupled with the spin from his roll, his slice nicked the aggressor's neck, enough to split the skin wide open. Harry had hit an artery, and now one of his enemies convulsed, attempting to halt the rapid flow of blood with his own hands, but ultimately failing in his efforts.

The swordsman gave him no time to reflect on the win, charging him with renewed grit. It was almost too easy. Harry knocked his sword off-balance by deflecting his blow with the flat side of his blade, and then cast the soldier's arm off. Not looking to prolong his suffering – for he would die with such an injury – he quickly finished the duel by driving Aiedail through his chest, ending the endless screams of pain.

Roran proved himself to be a ferocious fighter, more concerned with attacking than defending. He roared almost constantly in battle, swinging his hammer with such force that it crushed bone and lacerated skin with appalling ease. One particularly horrific attack wrung a soldier's jaw around almost ninety degrees, shattering the bone and displacing his spine. He was dead before he hit the ground. But Roran had something, _someone_, to fight for, and he was damned if he'd ever give up. Horst and the others nearby just stayed out of his arm's reach as he attacked, dispatching those he was unable to finish, and protecting his sides. They had family to kill for too, but did not have the courtesy of fighting for revenge.

Suddenly, the Ra'zac jumped from its hiding place nearby and ran at him, screaming as it brandished a bloody dagger. Roran couldn't react in time. The Ra'zac swung for his head...

Harry saw it, having searched for several minutes, and banished it through a door nearby. The foul creature clattered through the wood, splintering it with great force. Harry felt his supersensory charm activate before Roran shouted a warning, and spun, parrying an attack with a flash of sparks. He made to attack, but was beaten to the punch when Zar'roc burst through the soldier's slightly opened mouth. Harry grimaced in distaste as Eragon withdrew the blade. He stepped back before the body could collide with his legs.

"Harry, the ointment!"

Harry's heart fluttered, and he quickly withdrew his wand, before weaving it in a complex pattern and extinguishing the fires around him.

"Eragon, get the Ra'zac."

The tent had been smouldered. Almost praying what he wanted was still secure, he thrust the tent open, and nearly lost his stomach. The smell was revolting; a mixture of human flesh, faeces and vomit lay over the entire place like a rotting cloud of disease. Covering his mouth and nose with a piece of cloth, he searched for the oil and its balm... he hoped. There were mounds of stolen trinkets nearby, including an ornate chest. Hoping wondrously, he thrust it open and almost laughed in relief. Four separate bottles lay inside, three holding the illusive substance he recognised immediately as Seithr Oil, and the other holding a white ointment-like liquid. He hurriedly shrank all four and placed them in the expanded bag on his belt.

Outside, Roran carefully approached the door. The Ra'zac still lay there in a crumpled heap, apparently unconscious.

"Be careful," Horst said, standing by his side. Around them, the last vestiges of resistance had been wiped out. No soldiers remained. All in all, the villagers had suffered seven deaths and four wounded, but had won the battle.

"It's over," Eragon spat, glaring at the creature lying before them. "I know you're still there, so please stop trying to take us for fools. Get up, and maybe I'll give you a quick death."

There was nothing for a moment, before a slow, venomous hissing noise began to emanate from the creature. Before long, it transcended into a horrible, cackling laugh. With that, the Ra'zac drew itself up, staring at Eragon past a purple beak-like orifice and beetled eyes.

"You ssshall lossse," it hissed. "My lord will find the name, oh yesss, indeed..."

"What name?" Eragon demanded.

"The name!" it shouted, causing him to grimace. "You!"

Harry stopped beside Eragon and glared down at the abomination before him with a mixture of disgust and hatred. He wanted nothing more than to behead the bastard for all it had done, but felt compelled to hear it speak. It may be desperate, but some information could be gained.

"What?" Harry demanded, glaring.

"You are ourssss!"

"'Ours'? It may have escaped your notice, but your friend is dead," Harry said with satisfaction.

"No, you are ourssss!"

All at once, a dragon roared above, and both Eragon and Harry cast their eyes skyward. Two massive creatures hovered there, and they bore a striking resemblance in colour to-

"You, what are they?" Harry demanded, looking down.

As he did, the Ra'zac took advantage of the confusion to tackle him. It caught him in the chest with the full force of its body, which sent him heaving. Harry tried to react, but found his wand yanked out of his hand as the creature sliced his arm open deeply, damaging the nerves. Eragon swung for its head with Zar'roc, but it was too fast in an enclosed space, and ducked, before leaping high over the top of him.

They were stronger at night, Harry now remembered Brom's warning.

Laughing manically, the Ra'zac landed.

"We are endlessss," it hissed.

Before holding Harry's wand high in the air, and snapping it in half.

Harry's throat seemed to constrict. His eyes were deceiving him, surely. This couldn't be happening. He hadn't just lost his wand, the source of his additional strength in fighting Galbatorix and the Empire. He was seeing things. There could be no other explanation. Without even knowing it, he reached out his hand and formed a tight fist, determined to kill the unnatural beast before him.

"AAARRGHHHH! BRISINGR!" he roared, pouring all of his will into the spell. The Ra'zac screamed as fire caught it, and then lost its voice as green pillars of flame burst from its chest and head, roasting it from the inside-out. It cast one last look at Harry, where he could have sworn he saw it smile, and then exploded in a shower of blood and bone.

Above, the great creatures roared in anger, but knew they could not defeat such opponents alone. They turned and fled south, flying back to their lair. Until their master called both to him, they would hide.

"It can't be," Harry whispered, holding the halves of his holly wand gently. Blinking back tears, he clenched his fists around them and bowed his head. His wand, which had saved him on countless occasions, was gone. And he had no Elder Wand with which to repair it this time. It was simply _gone._ Gone forever. Absent-mindedly, he replaced the pieces in his pouch, and rose to his feet.

"I'm sorry," Eragon said softly.

"Forget about it," Harry said, shaking his head. "Roran, Horst, are the civilians safe?"

Roran nodded. "They're hiding in The Spine."

"Then let's fetch them and get the hell out of here," Harry said. "We're going north east."

Roran nodded, and quickly ran off to find Katrina.

"I'll see to Sloan," Eragon said. He almost glided over to the butcher, feeling his heart pounding. He picked his head up slightly, before dropping it again, where it hung low of its own accord. It was not from Harry's spell, but: "he's dead."

Harry could not speak for a while after Roran left. He was too absorbed in his failure, his inability to act as he had wished. True, they had saved lives, but several had died and now one more could very well be lost because of his negligence.

"I'm so sorry, Murtagh," he whispered.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

**A:N - "**Trolling attacks are a sign of weakness". That exact quote (my own) is permanently stamped on my profile (if I have anything to say about it), and it certainly encompasses my personal beliefs. If you troll, and then have the audacity to admit to me in a PM that you're doing it for attention, I'm going to laugh at you and block you, and that is all. Trolls will never upset me, but they can definitely amuse me on occasion. That is all.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Four – Reunion**

* * *

If there was one thing that Brom hated, it was travelling without action. At least he had been able to train Eragon and Harry on the road before, but this was bloody tedious. The Varden had yet to make it out of the mountains, but there was already an influx of panicked messages being relayed to the command centre. People were worried about the road, and wanted reassurances. Personal belongings had been forgotten. Wagons and carts splintered and broke, so moving on was impossible. In the end it was down to wearied soldiers to help the commoners.

Brom himself was propped on Snowfire, and he had leant Cadoc to Jörmundur on a temporary basis. Being a courteous man, he also offered Godric, Harry's horse, to Nasuada, the daughter of Ajihad. That was the other thing irritating him. She was a very capable young woman, but her position demanded reports to high command, and that meant he was forced to hear the irks and grievances.

"And the faith are demanding proper funeral arrangements," Nasuada said with exasperation. "They aren't happy we burned him with the others and moved on."

"Let them be unhappy," Brom grumbled. "We have more important matters to worry about."

Nasuada gave a nod, her dark regal hair tumbling back and forth with the motion. "I told them much the same. He was my father, yet I'm less preoccupied than the more pious citizens of the Varden. It's getting out of hand."

"We appointed you to manage relations between ourselves and the common folk for good reason," Jörmundur said, trotting over from the side. He was paying her a compliment. "I can't think of anyone better suited to hold the role, but you have to show them your firmness. You have your father's steel, and that's why we gave you the position. Not because of his standing."

"I offered a compromise: we would arrange a ceremonial remembrance for every member of the fallen once we reach Ellesméra, my father included."

That was something, Brom knew. He would have been slightly less delicate in that situation. Nasuada had the makings of a fine leader in her own right, though she did merit the need for experience above all else. The Varden certainly wouldn't be handed to a green leader, not when the likes of him and Jörmundur still lived, although the word spreading from Du Vrangr Gata was that Brom was the favourite to take over. They wanted a magician in the hot seat, as if that would help them earn more respect.

Brom snorted just thinking about it. Harry had spent all of an hour with the group on the eve of battle, but even he could see how obnoxious the pack of them truly was. Trianna was an exception, although she obviously still wanted to better her position. While Brom couldn't fault any intelligent person that wish, he knew she would be very dangerous if crossed. He wanted the magicians on his side. Then again, it wasn't exactly a 'contest' at the end of the day. Jörmundur didn't want permanent leadership. He was happy with his role in charge of the army and knew Brom would be much more able to lead; he had said so himself.

_But I'm getting too old,_ Brom realised. _If I do take over it won't be permanent. It'll just give me time to start training the boys to take up the mantle one day. They certainly have that in them, if they can gain universal respect. And with exploits like Farthen Dûr under their belt, they can at that._

"I went to check on Murtagh," Nasuada said. "It... was expected of me to see the wounded after they fought so gallantly. I am very sorry for what's happened to him."

"The elves will have a solution," Brom said, knowing full well the chances of reaching Du Weldenvarden before Murtagh died were astronomical. Arya had even offered to take the young man on ahead, but Jörmundur wouldn't hear of it. Protecting the Varden was their top priority, not sacrificing one of the best warriors around for the sake of one life, even if it was Murtagh. If they were attacked on the road it would be an absolute slaughter.

Nasuada looked at him for a few moments, unblinking. "I hope you're right," she said after some time, though Brom knew she had worked out the truth there and then.

"Oh, for... what the blazes is our left flank doing?" Jörmundur demanded, his voice reverberating around the narrow mountain passage. "I'll be right back," he muttered, striding off to where a dozen men had broken ranks to aid with a wagon collision.

"The sooner this is over, the better," Brom said. He wasn't looking forward to when Jörmundur found out about their two Riders leaving, which would inevitably happen soon.

"My lord, what are our plans once we reach the elves?" Nasuada asked suddenly. "We can't expect them to just throw open their gates and welcome us."

"They'll be accommodating once they see Arya," Brom said, trying to sound reassuring. "And if they're not... we'll leave, and remember they turned us away in our time of need. But I pray it doesn't come to that."

_Surely Oromis would stop Islanzadí if she tried to refuse us entry. _

He hoped.

* * *

If identical situations ever occurred in twos, then something remarkably similar was occurring on the other side of the country at that exact moment. Eragon and Harry had gathered every remaining villager, and set off north east, which would take them to the western edge of Du Weldenvarden. From there, they had a tough task in finding the elves, but hopefully someone would find them first. For the nonce, it was tough to remain optimistic, but they were doing their best to keep morale high among the townspeople.

Roran, however, had seen their troubles and decided to pitch in. His efforts proved incredibly efficient. The young man, being named 'Stronghammer' for his fighting prowess in Carvahall, bustled about the ranks of men, women and children, trading food for jokes and ensuring everyone was kept busy enough to not think about what had happened. Several families had lost people in the battle, and Katrina had lost her father. She had shed a few tears after Roran told her the news, but he knew well enough the type of person she was. In public, she would maintain a brave face. In private, she would break down at least once, as he had when Garrow died.

For now, Roran walked hand-in-hand with his beloved, her warmth strengthening his resolve. Even his presence gave comfort to her at the same time, but she couldn't forget. It was a good thing they hadn't let her see the body, or her dreams would be haunted for years to come. Eragon had set it alight with the rest of the dead, and that was that. No time for proper burials.

"How are you holding up?" Eragon asked, walking beside his friend.

"Well enough," Harry said. "I lost my wand, but that's nothing. Wives here have lost husbands and children fathers. That's much worse."

"Does it help thinking like that?" Eragon asked with a grimace.

"It helps me put my unease into perspective," Harry replied.

In truth, Harry was not moping. His weapon, his friend, had been taken, but there were silver linings to be considered. He was learning the Ancient Language, and knew that while it could never replace his own brand of magic, it was a good substitute. He also knew wandless magic was possible, but that would take years of practice to master. If he had years, he resolved to learn.

Actually, Harry was more annoyed with himself than anything else. He had been disarmed so _easily_, and it just went to show he was still human. He wasn't invincible. The smallest slip-up could be disastrous, and he had learned that on two occasions now. It _wouldn't _happen again. His pride demanded it.

He wished Aru was there. That would help him not feel distracted. Likewise, Eragon yearned for Saphira's presence, even stronger than Harry did for his own dragon. The longer a Rider lived with his partner, the more they wished to stay together.

Eragon clapped him on the shoulder and went to help Elain, who was struggling heavily with the journey. She was pregnant, and found the road rougher and bumpier than many there. Steeling himself up and taking from his friends' examples, Harry moved to aid those struggling with supplies. Several of the farmers had managed to bring along a few dozen sheep and a handful of cattle, although the vast majority of livestock had been claimed and destroyed by the Empire. Trying to starve a town or city into submission was one of Galbatorix's preferred methods, it transpired.

As he worked, carrying bundles to and fro, Harry thought about the Varden. He knew Galbatorix had enlisted the aid of a mysterious people far to the east, but there was no knowing when their troops would arrive. But on a more personal note, he wondered about Murtagh. Harry's only hope now was to call for Kreacher and hope the house elf didn't kill himself with the effort of apparition, but what if he died on the return journey? Could Harry sacrifice one friend for another? Was he even entitled to make that choice?

He doubted it. Kreacher was sworn to him, but slavery was anathema. The simple truth was that Harry didn't want to lose either one of them, but knew that each was important for different reasons. He hated tried to weigh up the pros and cons of each one, as that idea was asinine and nothing else, but it was inevitable. Murtagh was one of his best friends, but Kreacher could ferry sporadic messages between both worlds _if_ he was able to apparate back to the Wizarding World. That was certainly a big 'if'.

No, Harry would never try to choose a friend over another, or even place more value on one life than a second. He wasn't that person, and swore he never would be. People had value because they were people, not because of the reach of their arm, or the jewels around their neck, or even their worth in a warring scenario. The only certainty was that inaction would result in Murtagh's death. There was no guarantee action itself would cause any.

Harry would have to leave before the day was over, but he first wanted to be sure the refugees would be safe. There was no guarantee of returning any time soon, meaning that Eragon would be on his own for at least a little while. He wasn't worried, for both of them could handle that situation, but it might be something of a challenge nevertheless.

"We'll need to rest soon," Eragon said, returning. He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. "We've been at it for four hours now, and half of these people are ready to drop off their feet."

Harry nodded. "It's getting harder to see in the dark, as well. Once we've made camp, I need to go."

"Hmm," Eragon acknowledged.

"You aren't happy."

"I'm not unhappy either, if that makes sense. I want to save Murtagh as much as you do, but I think I'll need your help on this trek."

"You won't," Harry said with confidence. "You know where to go as well as I do. And if you ever encounter difficulty, Roran will help."

"Roran isn't a magician," Eragon pointed out.

"There won't be any soldiers in Du Weldenvarden. Just avoid the mountains and it's a straight shot east north east to Ellesméra. Once I get back to the Varden I'll take Saphira and come find you again."

The group walked in silence for another fifteen minutes, before the unanimous decision to stop until daybreak was made. Several of the farmers constructed a makeshift fence to herd the livestock for the night, while Harry and Eragon helped in erecting shelter for the townspeople. After that, Harry decided to rest for a few minutes beside one of the fires that had been hastily lit. He found himself joined by Roran and Katrina, and decided to speak with them for a while. He tried to make sure the conversation steered away from anything serious, as Katrina needed the distraction.

Finally, after half an hour of discussing what the elves would be like, the couple called it a night and went to their shelter for a little sleep. They would need their strength on the road, as would everybody. Harry looked around, seeing that the only people awake were Eragon, Horst and Morn, who had drawn first watch around the camp. Realising that there was no point in delaying any longer, Harry called for Kreacher and then held his breath in nervous anticipation.

After a slight delay, the little house elf appeared with a crack, swaying on his feet. Harry glanced in all directions, alarmed that he might be seen, before grabbing him gently in order to steady his legs. He checked the balm was still secure, before sharing a mutual nod of understanding with Eragon.

"_Good luck." _

"_Keep them safe, Eragon."_

"Kreacher, if it won't kill you, take me back to where you were," Harry whispered, and Kreacher nodded, rasping.

They vanished with a second pop, leaving Eragon staring at the soft cloud of smoke which quickly dispersed. He would have to explain his friend's disappearance in the morning, and that probably wouldn't go over well. The townspeople would likely think he had abandoned them again, even though Eragon chose to remain.

But, no matter. Eragon could explain the situation, and sod the lot of them if they didn't accept it. He was sick to death of being distrusted, especially after he had helped save their lives. A little gratitude wouldn't go amiss. He didn't realise it, but that frustration was mostly derived from Saphira's absence, and would most likely continue until they were reunited. He only hoped that would happen soon.

Trying to clear all thoughts from his weary mind, he slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Angela was trying to determine the correct mixture of herbs and spices to give the strange creature she had been tasked in helping, when suddenly he disappeared when an audible crack. The fortune teller sighed.

_That boy will just never learn. He's not going to let him recover, at this rate._

In the meantime, the fortune teller turned to her only other patient, whom she had refused to give to alternate healers. No one else could have kept the young man alive, despite what they might say. A few minutes later, the creature/Kreacher returned, only Harry was now in tow. Angela was not surprised in the slightest.

"Ah, you're back! Good. Maybe now you can let this poor thing rest in peace!"

Harry winced at her choice of words. They sounded decidedly morbid. At least she was in a joking mood, and- no, scratch that. Was Angela ever _not_ in a mood for jokes? She seemed much more willing to open up around him than some others, in any case. He carefully lifted the heaving Kreacher and set him back into the small cot Angela had prepared. They appeared to be in the back of a relatively comfortable wagon, moving slowly over cobbled ground. It was likely granted to her for helping the most wounded, hence the additional room.

"When did you figure out I'd left?"

"When you left."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm hardly surprised. There, let him rest until he awakens by himself," he said, covering Kreacher in a few blankets. "Eragon is on his own for now, you should know."

"He'll be fine. After you've seen to Murtagh, Jörmundur would like to speak with you near the front. I imagine he has some harsh words. If you're still alive afterwards, I would pay Trianna a visit. You don't show an interest in someone only to abandon them, you know."

"Hey! I didn't abandon her! I've... I've had a lot going on! I'm sure she's been just as busy with the wounded!" Harry protested. In truth, he had partially forgotten about Trianna. He had forgotten almost everything in his haste to rescue Roran and find help for Murtagh, in fairness. He still liked her, but felt guilty for forgetting. In fact, he _really_ liked her, and the more he thought about it...

Angela shrugged her shoulders in a casual manner. "You can make up for it, I'm sure. Just be careful you don't get drafted into wagon repairs. I hear it's a most tedious work."

"Your dry wit never falls on deaf ears when I'm around," Harry muttered.

Angela laughed. "At least you're learning! That's a start. Now, have you something for him?"

Harry nodded and turned his gaze to his friend. The disfigurement caused him to wince. He produced the magically-enhanced balm, and hesitated. Then he handed it to Angela.

"Please. You do this. You've a good idea what to do, and if it doesn't work... I'd rather not..."

Angela nodded in understanding. "Of course. I'll need time to prepare it correctly, but it should be successfully applied within the hour."

"Thank you, Angela."

"Think nothing of it," she smiled.

"Where's Solembum?" Harry asked, frowning as he looked around. The werecat's absence was conspicuous, given his high aptitude for mischief.

"Oh, off spying on the war council, most likely," she replied, supremely unconcerned.

After waiting a few minutes to check Kreacher's vitals a little, a period inevitably marked by trading even more jibes with Angela, Harry decided to search for Brom. He couldn't watch, just in case... just couldn't...

He exited the wagon, finding the column of refugees both long and wide, with thousands clearly in tow. It was pitch black, so he couldn't be sure of the exact size, but it looked as though the entire populace of the Varden was present, so hopefully the evacuation had gone smoothly in the end. It wouldn't do for any stragglers to be left behind.

Surely wouldn't be much longer until the companies were ordered to halt and rest for the night, but they had barely reached the exit of the mountains. And this was just the front. It was more than likely that over half of the Varden was still inside, which was probably the reason they were pushing so hard. No one would want to sleep in a pitch black tunnel, especially not if they suffered from claustrophobia at all.

The hoard did eventually grind to a halt, but only the front ranks. The soldiers began to spread themselves wide and form defensive positions, as well as erect wooden stakes to repel cavalry charges. Meanwhile, the rear ranks continued to pour from the Beor Mountains, until the large crowd was deemed too unstable. When that happened they were split up and lead to designated areas, each under guard, to ensure as much comfort as possible. It was still a very tight fit, but Harry knew it was to be expected until they reached Ellesméra.

He wandered through the ranks for a while, spotting some familiar faces, but not the ones he was hoping for. He ran into Nyos playing dice near the command tent, which was a pleasant surprise. He hadn't seen too much of the older man since the battle had taken place.

"Great to see a friendly face!" the turncoat grinned, jumping to his feet and practically crushing his fingers.

Harry noted that he was garbed in a general's outfit, and let his surprise be shown.

"Ah, that's nothing," Nyos said, scratching his head. "Brom and Jörmundur decided to promote me, for _outstanding courage and exemplary fortitude_, or some such bollocks. In reality it's because I survived, and most of the higher-ups weren't so lucky."

"Rubbish," Harry waved away. "You led these men to victory after Ajihad fell. Without you a whole lot more would have died. You deserve that promotion, really. Congratulations."

"Maybe," Nyos mused, "or maybe they want to stick two fingers up at the king. Either way, I'm happy to serve."

Harry grinned despite himself. "How about your men?"

"Bunch of sodding bastards!" Nyos shouted, deliberately so they could hear. "But they're _my_ sodding bastards now! Any imperial tries to mess with us, he'll find himself up against the best the Varden has to offer! Am I right, lads?!"

The war cries and shouts of approval answered that question.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Harry said, chuckling. "I need to find Brom. Any idea...?"

"The red and white pavilion over yonder," Nyos said, pointing in the general direction.

Harry thanked him and took his leave. He was glad the man was adapting to life as a commander in the Varden, and it seemed the soldiers trusted him, which was beneficial, given his position as a turncoat. Things could have been very uncomfortable on another day. That being said, Harry knew he was blotting out the pain regarding his family's disappearance by burying himself in his duties. If they were still alive, he would find them, without question. And if they weren't... well, the king might not be a target, but any soldier he came across would be a dead man walking.

Harry quickly located the command tent, since it was rather distinguished among the smaller ones in the surrounding area. The guards, recognising him, saluted and let him pass. Inside, Brom and Jörmundur were sat around a map, as per usual, whilst Arya stood looming in the background. The trio looked over as he arrived.

"About bloody time!" Jörmundur growled. "Just what in the deepest circle of hell were you thinking?!"

Harry winced. "I make my apologies, and leave it there."

"Leave it there?" Jörmundur asked blankly, with widened eyes. "You disobeyed a direct order, fled the camp and could have gotten yourself captured or killed! If you weren't a Rider I would have you flogged for insubordination!"

"And if wishes were horses then beggars would ride," Harry quipped. "Ifs, buts and wherefores aren't important now. Eragon and I saved over a hundred lives, killed the final Ra'zac and got out... _relatively _unscathed."

"The Ra'zac is dead?" Brom interrupted, his eyes lighting up. When Harry nodded, he broke into a wide smile. "Excellent work! That's one less pest for us to be wary of! And surely those lives are willing to fight, now that they've seen what the king is capable of?"

Harry nodded. He explained the situation briefly. "He had to stay there in order to lead them to the western side of the forest. I was hoping to take Saphira and go back to help him."

"Out of the question," Jörmundur said flatly. "Saphira is a deterrence for any would-be attackers. Without her we're next to defenceless, and that trip would take several weeks or more, even on dragonback. Then, once you got there, you would have to lead the exiles personally, which would take even longer. No, Eragon is on his own, and we can only hope the damage is limited that way."

Harry wasn't happy about that, but he chose not to argue. A good strategist listened to wise advice, and he knew Jörmundur was right. Saphira couldn't afford to leave the convoy now, and he obviously couldn't ride Arucane back again. He was barely the size of a wolfhound. It looked as though Eragon would have to navigate the woods alone, which posed a potential set of problems. Du Weldenvarden was regarded as mysterious beyond measure, with even more perils than the Spine, and wandering through its depths with a crowd of civilians could lead to trouble.

"When we reach the first Elven outpost on our path I will send word that Eragon is to be found and escorted," Arya promised, to his relief.

"Thank you, my lady," he said with a slight bow.

"We cannot afford to lose him," Arya said, nodding. "Though my mother will not be happy at the risk you have taken."

"Forgive me, but your mother didn't send aid when we required it," Harry said, bristling with slight anger. His opinion of elves, save Arya, had dropped in recent days. "As far as I'm concerned, her unhappiness is low priority concerned with the safety of my loved ones, and Eragon's. That's why we left in the first place. Roran is a brother to him, and Murtagh is a brother-in-arms to us both."

Brom shifted slightly, but Harry failed to notice.

"Thanks to our actions, both can live on," Harry continued, "and that's the end of it. We've won two great victories in a short amount of time, and they were sorely needed after the fall of Surda. Morale has taken a battering, and the king still outnumbers our forces almost ten to one. When his conscription orders go through in earnest, his army will swell."

"Green boys don't win a war, but they do make up numbers in the vanguard," Brom said with evident distaste. "Either we slaughter them on the field and lose men aplenty through attrition, or they're held in reserve for when needed, like cannon fodder. Either way, tens of thousands will die when our next battle is joined."

"What news is there on that front?" Harry asked.

"We've received word from our spies along the Ninor River," Jörmundur said, pointing out several areas on the map. "Reports are varied, but it appears the king is gathering his army along the eastern shore, some leagues from Gil'ead. Hundreds arrive every day."

That was alarming news. Strategically, the eastern side of the river held little interest to those in the Empire, save for a possible foothold in order to attack the Beor Mountains... or the north.

"Surely the elves can hold him off," Harry said with desperation. "He's been held at bay for decades!"

"Yes, but he won't suffer any to live," Brom said with a frown. "The king is gathering his full strength, and only then will he strike. It's risky, because it also gives us time to prepare, but he does hold the element of surprise. Realistically, he can attack at any time, but if he's smart that won't happen for several months. Giving a young boy a sword, a shield and marching him onto the battlefield is a waste of resources. He would die within seconds. As an excellent battle strategist, Galbatorix knows this. He'll order basic training, which will take weeks to implement, and then there'll be a need for huge increases in the number of weapons and siege machines."

"Six months?" Harry guessed.

"At a stretch, but it's most likely. If we're being pessimistic, we can say four to five, just in case he wants to attack sooner. He'll know we understand the situation, and will try to undermine our intelligence at all costs. A pre-emptive strike would accomplish that. He may also send smaller raiding parties to occupy our attention."

"What about forces from the east?" Harry asked quietly.

There was a tense silence.

"That's the wild card at this stage," Jörmundur grumbled unhappily. "Brom has explained the predicament. If the king is as smart as we think, he'll tell the Canderins to back off. He's lost all three eggs, his Shade and the Ra'zac in the space of several months. If they have as many men as we believe, they could swoop through this country like wildfire. Galbatorix won't risk open war with another nation, and he certainly won't bend the knee. He _has_ to know they can't be trusted."

"But... that's being optimistic," Harry said, prompting them to clarify.

Brom gave a solemn nod. "Yes, I'm afraid so. If they're true allies it's just as likely they'll start putting Du Weldenvarden to the torch from the southeast, in order to spread panic. And there's no guarantee the king's word would be enough to convince them of stopping, in any case."

"Damn this!" Harry growled. "We can't fight both of them at once! Even taking on the king is too much at this stage!"

"What would you have us do?" Jörmundur demanded. "Send peace emissaries? If they're allied with the king they would hang our corpses from their gates as an example!"

"Has anyone considered taking their leaders out? That would place doubt in their minds, and with our support a new ruler might back down," Harry mused.

"Impossible," Jörmundur said, shaking his head. "We don't know who they are, where they are, or how to find them. It could take years to undergo such an action."

"_Harry, ask about elven wards," _Arucane said, suddenly appearing in Harry's mind.

Harry rejoiced at the contact, and found his mind enveloped by that of his friend. The two became whole again, and he felt happier than before. It was a glorified reunion, and Harry would have smiled but for the dire situation. He relayed Arucane's request, not quite knowing why. To his surprise, Arya's eyes widened.

"I know what it is he suggests," she said. "But can it be possible...?"

Harry asked Aru to explain, and when he did, he was every bit as shocked as the elven princess.

"No way," Harry said quietly. "Who could muster the energy for such a task? The elven wards have been intact for centuries, fortified to keep Galbatorix out, but shielding the entire nation from another? To what end?"

"To protect the people," Jörmundur declared.

"Yes, and that's a great prospect," Harry retorted, "but Alagaësia can't stay hidden forever. The world is larger than the Spine to the Beors, and the people need to explore."

"_They can explore when there is no danger," _Aru cut in, broadcasting his thoughts for all four to hear. _"This will not be permanent, but temporary. It will... ensure... yes, ensure the people are safe until they are strong enough to travel without fear." _

"You're coming on well," Harry noted.

"_Thank you, but please be serious for a moment, Harry. Why should we fight when we cannot win? Even a son-of-the-sky knows not to attack a larger foe. It is folly." _

Harry gave him that. "Even so, how do you propose it be done? Where will the energy come from? What type of spell would even be..."

"Harry?" Brom asked, as the young Rider trailed off. He didn't answer for a moment.

"The Fidelius Charm," Harry said, covering his face with his palm. He shook his head in annoyance. "Damn it, what a time to lose my wand."

"You what?!" Brom yelped.

"It doesn't matter!" Harry said quickly, holding his hands up in a placating way. "I wouldn't even know how to cast the spell, and I don't know if it's powerful enough to protect an entire country."

"But, still!"

"Before you go any further, please note that... actually, I can't really think of anything to make it better," Harry admitted sheepishly, not pleased with himself at all. He could see this turning very ugly very fast.

"I should pummel some sense into you," Brom growled. "Be thankful I need you conscious to protect this convoy. Can you repair it?"

"Probably not," Harry said. "I have the halves with me, but I doubt the elves can do anything. Wandless magic is possible, but it'll be tough for me to learn."

"Damn it!" Jörmundur roared, swiping the map and strategic counters off the table. Harry flinched. The man seemed absolutely furious. "Do you have any idea how valuable an asset that was?" he demanded.

"Yeah, I do," Harry said. "It was my own, after all."

"What a bloody waste," Jörmundur said, sighing in resignation. "Unless you can make another one-"

"I can't."

"Then we're out in the cold, aren't we? Without your power I can't see how we can win this war, and that's the simple truth." He did not appear as angry now, but more resigned.

"You think I'm going to give up?" Harry demanded. "Would you have done that if I hadn't fallen out of the sodding sky in the first place? I refuse to believe it. Or maybe you haven't noticed, but we still have three advantages."

"Oh, I know. A Rider that isn't here, a dragon too weak to fight and an egg which hasn't even hatched. I'm sure the king is quaking in his boots," Jörmundur scoffed.

Harry felt anger on Aru's part. "Say what you want about me, but when you bring my loved ones into the discussion, you've crossed the line."

"Fine. I apologise. But do tell us what your next step is, since you clearly know so much more than we do."

"Easy," Harry said, looking around at each in turn. "We have several months before the king attacks. So we should go to Ellesméra, train and send out scouts to the northwest. Then, once we've identified a wide enough bay, we build ships and leave this accursed land, never to return."

Brom stared at Harry in disbelief, while Jörmundur was lost for words. Even Aru was surprised.

"You can't be serious," Brom said.

"Serious? Of course I'm not serious! But that's what you would like, isn't it?" Harry demanded of Jörmundur. "You want us to flee, forget about the people in danger, and save our own necks!"

"Don't you dare call me a coward," Jörmundur said, his eyes flashing. "I'll carry on this fight until my dying breath. That doesn't mean I hold our chances in high regard."

"What we do is open for discussion," Brom said loudly, stepping in before it could come to blows. "We need the support of the elves, and we need the warriors of Hrothgar. If we stand together we can succeed, but apart we _will_ die. There's no point planning anything before we can confer with Islanzadí and... others of note. Ideas are useful, which is why we're discussing it in the first place. But actual plans are off the table."

"Literally," Harry muttered, taking in the mess at his feet.

"Furthermore," Brom said, looking at him sharply, "we only just survived a battle, narrowly. There's no point talking of another so soon, not when we're so weakened we can barely move without fear. The wards in Ellesméra will surely be reinforced, but whether we can use them as a means to escape the east remains to be seen. We need council to know for sure which option is the most efficient."

"And first we have to get there," Harry finished, knowing what Brom would end with. "What route do you plan on taking? I assume cutting through the Hadarac is out of the question, which means you must be following the river north."

"Almost, but we plan to deviate after reaching its most northern point and turn northwest, which should lead us to Ília Féon within a week."

"A week?" Harry asked, perplexed. "With the size of this convoy?"

"We need to push onwards. No one can afford to straggle. Time is of the essence. We can easily cover several leagues a day, provided the civilians are given enough rest each night. It definitely shouldn't take more than a fortnight at the most, but I would honestly consider that bad timing."

"Very well," Harry said. "What are my orders?"

Brom looked at him, and saw that he was filled with expectation. That was good. It showed that Harry was eager to progress, and he needed people to think forward like that.

"I want you to take permanent command of Du Vrangr Gata. The magicians are to aid with the march in any way possible, be it healing, making repairs or guarding the most vulnerable. Speak to Trianna and make arrangements to spread the members around the convoy."

"Hmm... that would still be what, one magician to a hundred people? More?" Harry asked.

"It's not terribly efficient," Brom admitted, "but it's the best we can do for now. Arya will aid you, and I'll do my best to help whenever possible as well. Saphira, as including now, will be mostly flying reconnaissance ahead of the convoy. But keep Arucane with you at all times. It'll provide a measure of hope for the people."

"A good idea," Harry said.

"I'm glad you approve," Jörmundur said with sarcasm. Harry ignored him.

"I also want you to contact Eragon whenever possible," Brom said. "Scry him thrice daily, if you can, and maintain knowledge of where he is. It'll help the elven scouts, when they are sent out, and we need to know if he runs into any unforeseen trouble."

"Ah, yes... trouble. That has a proclivity for finding us when we least expect it," Harry said, drawing a breath. "What happens if we're attacked?"

"In that case, the warriors will hold the attackers off for long enough so that the civilians may flee at pace."

"They'll never get far enough," Harry warned.

"I know, but what other option is there?"

Harry could think of none. He did have an idea for warning, however.

"There should be scouts both east and west of the convoy at all times, just as a precaution. They could move with us, but out of the way. I'd prefer to send magicians, so that they might contact us if anything does happen."

"We need those magicians here," Brom pointed out.

"We do, but what will there be for them to help if we're attacked without warning?"

"I see your point. Very well, you can plan this, since they're now under your command again. Nyos has taken command of a third of our remaining strength, and the other two will be led by myself and Jörmundur. In the event of a battle we'll be in charge, but the people will also look to you for leadership. Keep that in mind."

Harry nodded. "I won't let you down."

"Forget about me," Brom scoffed. "Don't let the Varden down. They're counting on you. They're counting on us all."

* * *

After that lively chat, Brom sent Harry to rest for a while, since he was still in need of time to fully reenergise. Harry chose to spend that time with Angela, as he was intrigued to see how her treatment had carried out. It also gave him room to shave, which looked unusual after weeks of having a beard, and he tried to ignore the strange sensation by bantering with his partner in joke insanity. She reported that the swelling on Murtagh's neck and torso had been wholly eliminated, and that the blistered skin had started to recede. It also seemed to help with the pain, and his fever would be broken with the help of some additional medicines within a few hours.

"He'll definitely live," Angela beamed. "That was a genius idea, Harry. Well done!"

Harry blushed a little. "He would have done the same for me."

"Ah, but your roles have not been reversed, have they? If they had, I daresay the world would have been turned upside down."

"Probably," Harry replied, yawning widely. "When will he awaken?"

"Maybe in a day, maybe in a week. I'm not certain, really. But you should be prepared; that scarring will never disappear, and it'll take time for him to fully heal, mentally as well as physically. The tissue and muscle should be mended within a few weeks, but the scorch marks themselves will take longer."

_So he'll look like Two-Face, _Harry thought. "I hope he doesn't mind the scars."

"He will, for a time. But with moral support he'll be as right as rain eventually. Nasuada seems awfully fond of him, if that helps," she added.

"What are you saying?" Harry asked, screwing up his face in amusement.

Angela shrugged playfully. "Take some time and work it out, if you must. Although I think you could use that time to woo Trianna, to be honest."

"Thanks for your wisdom, o glorious Seer. Would you like an update on Brom, per chance?"

"Only if he tries to poison me," Angela muttered. "Though mind you, he would be a fool to try that. I'm a master of poisons and herbs. In fact, remind him of that, would you?"

"You want me to tell him you're a master of poisons? He'll probably think you're threatening him."

"A little paranoia wouldn't hurt," Angela said with a grin.

A loud purring noise drew Harry's gaze, and he found Solembum asleep next to Aru, who was looking at him in confusion. Harry laughed at the sight.

"_Cats are like that," _he told the emerald dragon.

Aru seemed to shudder and stepped away, before jumping onto Harry's shoulder. Harry was almost knocked off-balance.

"Okay, you're getting too big for that," he stated, drawing a disappointed look in turn. "What? Don't act so upset. You knew it would happen eventually."

"_Hmm."_

"At the very least, you can make progress on reaching Saphira's size," Harry suggested casually.

"Oh, tosh!" Angela exclaimed. She pointed a finger at him accusingly. "Your mind is filled with romance tonight, young one. But forget giving advice, if you can't take it yourself."

Harry wanted to quip back, but instead he found himself thinking about Trianna. Her raven-coloured hair, shining sapphire eyes...

"You really think I should?" he asked suddenly, with worry in his voice. "I mean, I haven't forgotten how I feel, but after the battle she may think differently."

Angela sighed and looked at him in resignation. "Then she'd be a bloody fool. But there's only one way to know for sure, so get off your scrawny backside and go and ask her."

"_I approve, if that helps," _Aru said, before falling asleep.

Strangely, it did, although he didn't need anybody's approval save hers and his own. Making up his mind in that moment, Harry set Arucane on the soft mat next to Kreacher's unconscious form and left the carriage, missing Angela's grin at his departing back. He knew where she was, just from feeling the various minds of people nearby. Only a handful had concrete defences, and she let him in upon feeling the touch of his mind. He barely knew her, but it felt like she was closer than almost anyone.

"_I missed you," _Harry admitted.

He received a happy response, and she sent him the image of a smallish tent several minutes away. Harry followed the directions carefully, and wound up outside, heart pounding. Surely not. He didn't even care if his hunch was right. Why would it make a difference now, or in ten years? Taking a deep breath, he pulled the flap aside and entered.

There she stood, long hair gleaming in the candlelight. She smiled upon seeing him, her eyes lit with joy and relief. Out of nowhere, she rushed forward and embraced him, mashing her lips to his own. After a moment, she stopped and rested her forehead against his, eyes shut.

"I missed you too," she said softly. "I'm a strong woman, Harry, but when you went to fight Durza I... I was afraid. Afraid for the first time since my parents were killed."

"I'm sorry," Harry said in earnest, his voice low. That answered the question of whether she felt the same. "I promise... I'll never do that again. I only want to see you happy."

Inside, Harry's mind was reeling. Could two people who barely knew one another really feel such deep affection? He had always liked to think so, and after meeting Arucane his thoughts on the matter had amplified. Where was the proof that people _couldn't_ fall in love at first sight? There was plenty which proved the opposite true. And who was he to control his heart? No one. He was a mere vessel for his soul, and love is one soul living in two bodies, searching for its other half without end.

Had he found his?

Nothing could have prepared him for what came next. All of a sudden, the two of them kissed together, deeper this time. Harry felt her chest heaving against his torso, awakening a desire he had never felt so strongly before. Trianna wrapped her arms around his head and drew him closer, her tongue attacking his with gusto. Harry responded in kind, gripping her tight and feeling the smooth skin of her back through the thin garment she wore.

Through her kisses, he struggled to say: "I've never-"

"Neither have I," she whispered, barely getting the words out as she continued to plant innumerable kisses on his lips and cheek.

Suddenly, Trianna turned him around and pushed him onto the travelling bed she had made for the tent, grinning ruefully. Then, before Harry could as much as smile back, she was on top of him, straddling him. She never ceased kissing him for a while after that, allowing Harry to taste the tang or raspberries on her lips and tongue, while inhaling her enticing aroma. The sensations sent tingles to his scalp and fingertips.

He wouldn't have minded going slowly, but Trianna had other ideas. She practically ripped his shirt off, and he almost laughed at her eagerness. But he contented himself by smiling against her lips, and returned the favour, albeit a little more gently. From there they continued for what felt like hours, until he was looking down on her, gasping and sweating together with the woman he now knew he loved. Trianna arched her neck and let out a moan as the two climaxed together, and Harry eventually collapsed beside her.

She smiled at him after a little while, and he returned the gesture, before leaning forward and planting a kiss on her sweet lips. He drew her close, holding her tight in his arms. The two eventually fell asleep in that manner, with Trianna's head buried in his chest, and Harry feeling that he had never been as happy in his entire life.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**Chapter Twenty Five – Lurking Strategists**

* * *

As he sat upon his newly-constructed throne, Galbatorix was the picture of contention, but that was merely a visual deception. On the inside, the king was frustrated beyond belief, bad news for the servants who had been assigned to duty in the throne room that day.

"Take those bodies away," Galbatorix commanded, "and bring me Tarquintus."

The captain of the guard nodded, saluted and departed without a word, shaking on the inside. Tarquintus was a soldier, recently granted the status of general by the king himself after swearing oaths of fealty upon the threat of death. Unlike that traitor Nyos, however, he was bound by these oaths, as the king was not stupid enough to forget. Not that Durza had been stupid. He had merely been negligent; such was his awe of the feeble amount of power he had contracted.

_And now he's dead,_ the king scoffed. _Not that I care, but how he managed to lose in battle to a band of savages is truly astonishing. Perhaps it's more to the good that he's gone. I would have killed him myself eventually. _

"Your grace, I am yours to command," Tarquintus said, walking to the foot of Galbatorix's throne and kneeling. A tall man, well-built, with close-cropped brown hair turning grey. His face was still, not betraying any emotion, and he carried himself with grace. "Your wish is my duty, and-"

"Oh, do skip the pleasantries," Galbatorix said, bored. "Come, my friend, rise; what word have you received from our spies within the Varden's ranks?"

"The spies have reported Brom is moving the Varden in its whole to Du Weldenvarden," Tarquintus said, rising to his feet. "Captain Saleera has prepared a strike force, and will be on them within two days, although Saleera may decide to infiltrate the camp beforehand. Do you wish to attack?"

"How many men?"

"As per your instructions, two hundred."

"Good. We need the brunt of our forces to remain here, so as to prepare for war with the elves... and then the east," Galbatorix mused. A surprise attack would damage morale amongst the rebellion, and he might just get his hands upon a few valuable hostages. Brom was a fool if he thought his people were safe, although he most likely didn't at that. "Have a message relayed to the spies – they are _not_ to compromise their position. They will fight among the Varden and retain their standing as loyal warriors, in order to feed us information once they reach the elves."

"Very good, my lord." Tarquintus shifted, curious about the other part of what the king had said.

"What is it?" Galbatorix asked, not missing the action.

"I... forgive me, my lord, but war with the east? I thought they were supposed to be our allies?"

"You're a smart man, general. Can you not work this out?"

"...I could only guess at Your Grace's intent, but I think you have planned this for some time, sire," the general said, feeling nervous now. One wrong step could see him dead in an instant.

"Correct. I never planned to share power. Why would I? I am divine, am I not?"

"Of course, sire!"

"And once I have my Riders to command, the Eastern Empire will be crushed," Galbatorix said with determination. "They harbour a fear of the Riders, believing that the old order is still in control of Alagaësia, which is why they've never attacked before. Technically, I have protected this land from disaster, even while the Varden call me tyrant. The irony is palpable."

"They're fools," came the confident reply. "You know what's best for us all, my lord."

Oh, joy to the pompous suck-ups of the Empire. Galbatorix could see through them in an instant. It was a good thing he received an inane pleasure from having his feet kissed – metaphorically, of course; he would never allow those filthy vermin to touch him – or he might have snapped a long time ago and started killing everybody in sight, simply to pass the time. In truth, he hated niceties, preferring instead the subtle art of vicious politics, where he could crush opponents with cunning and guile. It was immensely satisfying to outthink a thinker, especially one well versed in the subject of power.

"Is our guest still alive?"

"No, my lord. He died sometime in the night and was disposed of this morning."

"Good. His screams were beginning to irritate me. All twelve Canderin magicians are now dead, minus a soul each. I'm sure the glorious King Alder would be pissing his pants if he could only see their worthless husks."

Tarquintus paled. He knew the result of that little experiment, unlike most people. Even the Shade had almost been killed from the effort, although he had somehow survived. It was certainly a profound accomplishment in the long history of magic, but a dark and evil one nonetheless. And Tarquintus was a mere soldier. Magic unnerved him greatly. To bring back the dead...

"Y-yes, sir," he said, shuddering. Unthinkable. Absolutely detestable and unthinkable.

"He has finally regained full strength as a result, and will be ready for battle within the month. See to it," he ordered.

"Yes, my king. Will I prep the army for battle as well?"

"No. Our recruits still need time to train, although we cannot dither for too long, else the enemy will grow in strength exponentially. We will wait several months and then begin our attack. Any man not trained in combat by that time will be used as ballista fodder."

"A-as you wish," Tarquintus stammered, never one for a waste of life. He joined the army to keep the system secure, even if he didn't necessarily support the king himself. He had no family, but vowed to fight for the security of the land. The Varden couldn't possibly orchestrate a social upheaval and stop the entire nation from falling into chaos. A strong leader was needed at all times.

When the general departed, Galbatorix returned to his earlier musings. He couldn't attack with all his might or the elves would cut him to pieces from the rear after the Varden were defeated. True, he was being much more cautious than usual with regards to the lives of his soldiers, but recent events had to be taken into consideration. He had obviously underestimated the Rider and accomplices, his otherworldly friend in particular, but would not do so again. The two hundred men he had prepared were not expected to survive. They were a diversion so that Saleera, his most trusted assassin, might sneak into the camp and retrieve the eggs. That was all that mattered.

The king prided himself on strategic intelligence. He knew there was a very real chance that three Riders could pose a massive threat to the Empire itself. He couldn't risk killing them, which meant the danger was simply unparalleled. Except the one known as Harry Potter. His opinion there hadn't changed – he _had_ to die, unless Galbatorix personally got to him first somehow. But they could wreak havoc within his army, and if elven spellcasters joined forces with them, the devastation might be impossible to recover from.

If his current calculations were correct – and they were – the royal army would number over one hundred thousand within half a year, but together the elves, dwarves and Varden might be able to field between fifteen and twenty thousand warriors. People who had _seen_ combat. That meant a lot in the tide of any battle scenario. It was fortuitous that he destroyed Surda, or there might be a real problem at hand.

Galbatorix would have simpered if he wasn't above such disgusting actions. He _loved_ this game of cat and mouse and always had. He knew the leaders of the Varden were planning ahead and predicting his moves, as he was for them. The trick was to out-plan their countermeasures and employ methods that might be questionable under most circumstances, hence the impending sneak attack. The Varden would know by now of his forces at Gil'ead, but he had only gotten there the day before, after ensuring Surda was under his control. It was hard for many to believe that Orrin was in charge only a week ago, and now the men of the Empire controlled every major city and trading port.

His forces would take time to traverse the plains, but he had a distinct advantage there. It was a shame Durza couldn't grant him the ability to 'apparate', as he had called it once, but no matter. Shruikan was as effective as any form of transport. So, the Varden would know of his presence beside the army, but they wouldn't be aware of the attack, unless someone was conscientious enough to post scouts leagues to the west. If that were the case, he might even have a formidable rival to contend with. The thought was strangely enticing. He hadn't faced a real challenge in decades.

Silently, he turned to gaze at the floating ball of raw materials, taken from the ruins of Urû'baen, nearby. His plans hadn't changed. Constructing a massive fortress with magic was a sound idea, provided it didn't disrupt the balance of trade and economy in Gil'ead. Perhaps if he built it a little away, making the usage purely militaristic, there would be no problem. There would also need to be a place to store the Eldunarí _safely_. He had recovered those from their separate hiding place – a magically hidden alcove under the Ninor River itself – after dealing with Orrin.

But that was worrying in itself. It was purely insulting that the thieves from before had gained entry to his throne room, and possibly his own private quarters. There could be no mistakes this time around. Maybe his new _friend _could help, once Tarquintus was assured he was back to full health.

Slowly, the magic holding the sphere was released and it fell onto his palm, where he clenched his fist around it tightly, finding the smooth surface oddly reassuring.

He would think of something.

* * *

Harry awoke with a smile upon his face. It deepened when he felt Trianna breathing against his neck, their arms entwined. Part of him could hardly believe what had happened the night before, but the biggest part of all was overjoyed. Not even for the act itself, but because he had found someone to be with, someone who loved him in earnest.

"_Harry... I do hope you know I could feel what you're feeling now."_

"But y_ou were sleeping!" _

"_And I can see everything in your mind, like it's still happening."_

"_Stay away from Saphira for a while," _Harry suggested.

"_You're funny," _Aru snorted. _"You know I haven't matured enough for that just yet." _

"_Poor you. But don't worry, you'll get there... if the red hatchling doesn't impress her more."_

"_Like hell," _Aru said, full of determination.

Harry chuckled quietly. He knew there would be some type of competition if the red dragon turned out to be male, and Saphira would surely delight in making them jump through hoops for her affection. But if Arucane managed to show his worthiness before it even hatched, she would keep that in mind for the future. He could very well have the future romance sewed up before being even two months old, at this rate. That had to be some kind of record.

It was unusual to think about, granted. But then again, dragons matured very differently to people, so was a comparison between the two really just? Probably not. Most unfortunately, that line of thinking hit home in one profound way. He was immortal, a frightening prospect.

Harry looked down on the raven-haired beauty beside him, her eyes still peacefully shut, and sighed quietly. Maybe he hadn't given this a lot of thought before now. How was he going to live forever, if Trianna was mortal? It was the worst type of dilemma. Death was the only certainty of life, but now that had been removed? Complete insanity! What was he supposed to do? What _could_ he do?

"_Don't think about it," _Aru said soothingly, letting his mind wash over Harry's in comfort. _"You're both still very young. For all we know Saphira may breed a host of new eggs and one of those could very well hatch for Trianna."_

"_Maybe," _Harry said, _"but there's no certainty there. And even if you're right, how long would that take? It could be decades before that happens, and by then..."_

"_By then you won't be attracted to her anymore?"_

"_That's not what I meant!" _Harry snapped. _"You wouldn't understand. Dragons grow bigger, but their physicalities don't change much. I know that I love her, but watching someone grow old and approach a natural death while I live on... it just feels _wrong_, Aru. It hasn't even happened yet and I already have a guilty conscience. And put yourself in her shoes – how would she feel, seeing me like this fifty years from now? I know Riders age in looks if Brom is anything to go by, but that could just be because he lost his dragon. What if I stay looking this young for centuries?"_

"_It's a strange thought, to be sure," _Aru admitted. _"But take it from me, who's even younger than you are: your time won't be spent idly thinking about your personal life. You'll always have responsibilities and problems to solve. And if you ever decide you've had enough of people, then that will be your time for self-reflection, not before. But that could take centuries."_

"_Or it could happen tomorrow."_

"_The future is never certain, little one," _Saphira said, interjecting. _"Don't look ahead in fear when you can look around now with joy in your heart. Live for the moment, or you'll never be happy and only suffer disappointment when your expectations fall short. You love Trianna, and she loves you. For the present, that is all that matters. Don't burden yourself, as I feel you're burdened plenty already."_

Aru agreed with her. _"If not for yourself, think of the people around you. Think of her, partner of my heart. I know you'll do anything to protect her, because I feel the same now after you bonded with her."_

"_You consider her family because we had sex?" _Harry asked, blinking. _"Maybe I should have realised that would happen."_

"_Hah! As if that would have stopped you."_

Despite himself, Harry blushed. He did feel a little better now, though it wasn't likely to last if he didn't change the subject. If only he had a pensieve, then he could store these depressing thoughts inside and never cast a glance at them again. It was probably a good idea to get her opinion on the matter as well, even if he wouldn't like the answer. It was certainly her right to come down on either side of the argument, all things considered. He wondered if the implications had even hit her.

"_It might be precarious, but it shows the depth of your feeling for her," _Saphira said. _"And brood-brother-Arucane gave you his permission, as he said. That means you've chosen wisely. I will do the same for Eragon, when the time comes."_

Deciding that was a good angle to change the subject, Harry jumped at the opportunity.

"_You two were brood siblings?"_ he asked with confusion. _"Err... wouldn't that cause genetic problems if the two of you were to... you know... mate?"_

"_We don't share the same parents," _Saphira clarified. _"But we call ourselves siblings because we rested together for over a century, unhatched. We were in each other's presence constantly."_

"_The touch of our minds was always present," _Aru added.

"_That sounds... enthralling."_

Harry spent another few minutes conversing with the dragons, who were flying together over the camp outside. He then dressed, without waking Trianna. The Varden would move at a designated time, but that wouldn't be for another hour. Until then, he would let her sleep. Flushing at the thought, he knew that physical exertion usually meant a lot of rest the next day.

Deciding to clear his head, he left the tent after writing her a short note to explain where he was going and went to get breakfast with a few other members of Du Vrangr Gata, who he was getting to know rather well. There were a lot of names to remember, but once he had them nailed down all that remained was not mixing them up and causing any offence. The magicians weren't overly powerful, with most being healers, but they were hardworking and caring to a point, which counted for something in the time of war.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Am I not allowed to eat here?" Nyos grunted, sliding onto the stool across from him.

"I thought you'd be with your men."

"They've been on rotating shifts since the crack of dawn, so I'm letting them get some rest, including the cooks. That means I had to find somewhere else to eat, and here we are."

"Here we are," Harry said, toasting with his bowl of soggy oats. "To the fine cuisine of the Varden."

"May it never change," Nyos chuckled, matching the gesture.

"Murtagh should be okay now," Harry said, resuming eating with his spoon. "I forgot to mention that last night."

"Good to hear, that. I also heard from someone who may or may not be Angela that you and Eragon snuck away from camp yesterday. Something about magical teleportation all the way to Carvahall?" he asked, lowering his voice. Around them, the magicians of Du Vrangr Gata continued their own conversations in normal voices.

"We would have invited you, but it was something of a rush," Harry said, understating the point supremely.

"Ah, I'm not bothered. I had a lot of clean-up work to do, and unlike you I wouldn't go unpunished for leaving like that. I can't bloody run from _two_ armies, you know. One was bad enough."

Harry laughed. "Good point."

"Just remember that I owe you and Murtagh a debt. You helped give me my freedom, and I want to repay you someday."

Harry raised a hand, his expression placating. "Please. You have absolutely nothing to repay. You've fought with us, bled with us and travelled across the desert with us, all at risk to your own life. If there was a debt, which I contend, by the way, it's long been settled."

"Well, I don't feel entirely unaccommodating, as part of me disagrees. But I'll let it lie, so long as you remember that I'm here if you ever need a favour," Nyos said.

"I'll keep it mind," Harry said appreciatively, nodding. "Wait. How do you know Angela?"

"Ah, funny story, that," Nyos grinned. "We met on the battlefield. I had just caved a Kull's head in two, when all of a sudden she appears, swinging that Hûthvír of hers in all directions and carving the Urgals up like a cut of beef."

"And from there the relationship deepened," Harry bantered.

"Isn't she your type instead?" Nyos asked, sipping a cup of water. He was far too experienced with lewd military humour to rise to such simple bait, and was widely known as an expert in deliberately making the men under him uncomfortable. All for the sake of a cheap laugh, of course.

"No, I... have someone else in mind," Harry said, faltering as Trianna herself walked into the larger tent. She smiled at him, before grabbing food of her own and joining them, choosing a stool next to Harry.

Nyos watched the two of them interact, the grin on his face growing larger each second. The playful kisses... the constant smiling... the blushing... he had seen it all before.

"Way to go, Harry," he said cheerfully, as the noise naturally died down for a second. "What was the sex like?"

Harry spluttered.

* * *

Darkness.

Coldness.

An empty chasm, filled with noting but darkness and coldness, no hope for escape. And when he fell the cold burned, roasting and freezing his naked body with the tact of a rampaging dragon. There was no reprieve, no relief to be had. The pain was constant, endless, and surely death would not be far behind. But no. He lived on, waiting and hoping to be saved from the nightmare that had befallen him, that would not be quelled by him alone.

And as he fell, Murtagh screamed in agony and confusion. He knew not how long this had been happening for, but surely the Sun had gone cold, or at the very least a thousand generations had passed in the blink of an eye. Visions of friends old and new swam before him, raining down anger and frustration at his failure, his failure to deliver. They damned him, accusing him of skimping on his promise to aid the Varden, and beat him relentlessly.

It was suffocating. A dark, pungent cloud of smoky terror wafted through his lungs, choking and splitting all in one. The pain was so great tears fell openly from his eyes, and they too stung his cheeks before flying away, taken by the speed of his ongoing descent into nothingness.

"_Kill me!" _he screamed.

"_Murtagh! Murtagh, listen to me! You have to reach for my voice!"_

Who was that? It sounded like Eragon, or Harry, perhaps Brom... Nyos? It was all of them and none of them. No, it was Tornac, or maybe Galbatorix playing with his mind.

Galbatorix, the spectre who appeared before him, now grinning with mad disdain. And he drove the point of a dagger into Murtagh's lungs, stabbing constantly.

_Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. _

Murtagh awoke with a cry. His breath was wheezy, and his body coated with sweat. He choked for water, which was quickly administered. After draining the contents of an entire flask in mere moments, he lay back, panting. The coolness stilled some of the burning ache in his throat, and he could think clearly again. Looking up, he saw the fortune teller from the battle looking down at him, concern etched across his face.

But even as her face swam into view, it faded with his eyes falling tired and shutting of their own accord.

"Where am I?" he whispered, voice so hoarse she surely couldn't understand.

"Relax," she said gently, pressing a wet cloth to his forehead. "Your fever only broke in the night, and you're still very weak physically. But you're back with us. That's a good sign."

An Urgal blasted him with magic, leering intently. The pain flared in his chest, and Murtagh gasped painfully as he clutched at the loose blankets around him, eyes bugging out in fear.

Angela, showing her trade, promptly calmed him with a simple touch. His mental defences were down, and she took advantage by connecting with him to convey a series of peace-invoking images. Places she had seen. Sandy shores, with waves crashing against land... a hidden shrine deep in Du Weldenvarden, overgrown with moss and lichen... a simple view of the sky, laden with birds calling peacefully to one another and flying in the wafting sunshine.

Murtagh exhaled again, still feeling the burning. Angela gave him more water, and he felt slightly better, although still sick to his stomach.

"Your strength will return with time," Angela promised. "Until it does, try not to move."

Murtagh groaned, twisting his body slightly as his joints stiffened. By all signs, he had been lying prone for at least a day or two, possibly more. He remembered being attacked by an Urgal magician during the battle, with Brom's wards collapsing just beforehand. He hoped the old man was alright.

"Harry... Eragon..."

"They're okay," Angela said gently. "But Ajihad fell. Brom and Jörmundur have taken charge of the Varden."

"W-where are we?" Murtagh asked, his voice raspy. He could feel the bumps underneath his body, and the small carriage meant that they were travelling.

"Going to join the elves," Angela said. "Now, that's enough. Go back to sleep."

"I... I want to see-"

He never got the next word out, however, as Angela chose that moment to give him a herbal sedative, which knocked him out after a few seconds.

His dreams were less troubled, although he was still plagued by visions of Farthen Dur. But at least the mad king never appeared again. That was something to be grateful for, at the very least. When he awoke again, it was late into the evening, and Harry was sitting at the foot of his cot, Arucane on the floor at his side.

"Good to have you back," his friend said, smiling.

"Good to be back... I think," Murtagh replied with a cough. Deftly, he found a cup of water on a small table nearby and took a few sips, feeling much better than before.

"Well, it couldn't be any worse than death," Harry joked. "How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad. Or rather, better than before. I believe it'll take a while before I'm back to full strength." Wincing, Murtagh tried to sit up, but Harry held a hand above his chest in order to stop him.

"Don't. Not yet. Angela and Trianna were able to extradite the melted armour from your skin, and the swelling has vanished, but your stomach was lacerated at the same time. It'll hurt for a while, but they managed to heal the exterior with magic. Have you... looked in a mirror recently?" he asked, trying to be as gentle as possible.

Murtagh froze, staring at him. "I guessed there would be scarring, even while I was being burned. But... show me."

"Murtagh-"

"Show me," he demanded, and Harry silently complied. He handed him a small mirror with sadness in his heart.

Murtagh wasn't surprised by his reaction. His outer layer of skin was mostly intact... mostly. One half of his face was scorched in colour, with a closer inspection revealing this trait all along his torso and the upper part of his leg. To his relief, his hair and _other_ areas had been left unaffected, but his face really looked like hell.

_Hellfire,_ he thought, snorting. _At least these scars came from battle, not my beloved father. _

He threw the mirror back to Harry and announced, "I'll live."

"You really aren't bothered?" Harry asked with scepticism.

"Bothered? Of course I am. But I never had much use for looking in a mirror anyway. As long as nobody keeps saying things to my face, it's no real concern," he shrugged, remarkably calm.

"They won't," Harry promised. "They trust you with their lives now, after you almost gave your own by mistake. They respect you too much to offend."

"At least it didn't take much," Murtagh quipped.

Harry chuckled. "True enough, but what's done is done. Angela has some potions which will help to dull the pain, so you can start walking again soon enough."

"Forget that," Murtagh muttered, moving to get up. This time Harry didn't stop him, as he clearly needed to see for himself. After a few seconds, he groaned in pain and collapsed again. "Damn it."

"The pain will fade, but the potions will help until it does."

"Can't you use magic to help instead? Surely that would be a lot quicker!"

"I'd have to dull your senses," Harry said, shaking his head.

"So?"

"So you'd not be able to feel anything, and wouldn't be able to walk at all. You'd be stuck in that bed for days, if not weeks," Harry explained.

"Ah."

There was a brief silence, until Murtagh sighed.

"Okay, fine. Give me the damned thing," he said, before hastily adding: "please."

"I'll go and get Angela," Harry said.

He left, but the rather silent Arucane stayed behind, rolling on the floor as he had been the entire time. Murtagh almost laughed at the thought of a fully-grown Saphira doing the same as an infant. Almost.

"Harry seems... different," he announced at large, although only Aru was there to hear. The little dragon paused, looking at him. Murtagh felt a strange probe trying to access his mind, and lowered the defences he had immediately re-raised upon waking up. It was better to be cautious than dead, after all. His creed knew that.

"_Harry is going through a strange phase," _Aru said with mild sarcasm. _"He, to all extents and purposes, is a man on a mission. It's because of him that you're alive and well, not to mention Eragon helping a great deal. You may find he's taken on a lot of responsibilities in the past few days, so expect to see his more serious side come to surface with alarming regularity."_

"I'll keep that in mind," Murtagh said, blinking in surprise. "What of Eragon himself?"

"_He's away on mission. That's the easiest way to describe it," _Aru said, growing slightly weary. _"I suggest you ask Harry for the full story. For now, I would like to sleep, if you don't mind."_

Without waiting for an answer, the emerald dragon curled up next to Solembum's cushion, which was currently unoccupied. Aru probably chose that moment to rest because he knew Harry was returning, which he did mere moments after Aru fell asleep. All to make sure Murtagh wasn't lonely. Harry bore several vials, and promptly handed one to Murtagh, who accepted the concoction gratefully.

"Angela is busy with a patient, but she said to take that and wait for several minutes. The pain should subside enough for you to walk again."

"Then what?"

Harry wrinkled. "Then, you need a bath in the river, my friend. No offence. After that, I'll show you where to get some food."

"Harry, where's Eragon?" Murtagh asked suddenly. "Aru told me you two had a hand in saving my life, but I'd like to know how."

Harry hesitated, before nodding reluctantly. He understood Aru's actions, but Nyos already thought he owed him a debt. Two would be over the top.

"I'll explain when you've had something to eat," he said. That should give him a little time to think of how to spin the story without sounding like Murtagh owed him anything.

* * *

At that precise moment, Trianna was conversing with Brom and Jörmundur in the command tent, once more repitched for the nightly break. She was feeling flustered, all things considered, but better than she ever had before. Blushing, she straightened up before one of the leaders could ask her what the matter was.

"Ah, greetings," Brom said, nodding cordially. The old man looked tired, she noted. "What news from Du Vrangr Gata?"

"Harry put me in charge of receiving messages from the scouts on both flanks," Trianna announced. "I've come to report that our western contingent has detected a force of some two hundred imperial soldiers massing for attack. They're trying to slip by unnoticed, but Carn is much too crafty to let them off the hook that easily. They'll be here within a day."

"Hmm, this really isn't unexpected," Brom admitted, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "But I thank you for bringing the matter to our attention. Did Carn give specific details regarding their ranks?"

"The king is not with them, if that's what you're wondering," Trianna said. "Their company commander appears to be a regular captain of the army, although I would hazard a guess that he's a magician, given the small size of the force."

"What if there's a Shade?" Jörmundur asked, worried. "We can't rule out that possibility."

"We'll need to be careful," Brom nodded, "but we can't engage them directly. It's the first thing any foe would expect, and we have the element of surprise. They think it theirs, but there'll be a right shock, I daresay."

"Indeed, and that's why I have a plan," Harry announced, strutting through the tent with confidence.

Brom rolled his eyes. Really, who had timing _that_ good?

"I left Murtagh to bathe in peace," Harry said, knowing what he was thinking. "Otherwise... well, that would be unusual, even if he is still slightly wounded."

"You don't say," Trianna muttered, and Brom grinned. He had heard from Nyos about the two. Most of the camp probably had by now.

Jörmundur didn't hear her. "I'm glad he's on his feet again."

"As am I," Harry nodded, casting Trianna a sheepish grimace.

"Now, your plan?"

"Yes," Harry said, "my plan. I propose we leave a section of the line deliberately under-guarded, so that the enemy is more likely to attack that chokepoint. From there, we can hide warriors out of sight and bottleneck them, crushing their will before they ever reach the civilians. We should move them out of harm's way as a precaution, and plant some empty tents as a diversion. They'll never know what hit them."

Jörmundur raised his eyebrows. "I'm impressed."

"I thank you," Harry said respectfully.

Nearby, Brom was beaming. The boy truly was becoming an excellent strategist. However, there was one flaw with his plan.

"How can you be sure they'll take the bait? Their captain may expect a trap. In fact, the king probably told him to expect as much."

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, shaking his head. "If they attack a stronger part of the line it's to their own detriment, and if they veer off-course the units of cavalry I want to commission will ride them down. That keeps us covered either way."

"I like it," Brom said happily. "I'll have the front-guard move the barricades and stakes to the western flank first thing in the morning, but leave a noticeable gap near the rear. It's likely they'll attack there, as most of our forces would obviously be positioned at the front."

"I'll reposition Du Vrangr Gata along the western line," Harry added. "If they do decide to attack elsewhere, we should have enough warning to redeploy beforehand. This seems like a foolish move, all things considered."

"Maybe, maybe not," Jörmundur said, shifting uncomfortably. "If you hadn't opted to send scouts to the east and west, we mightn't have received any warning. That was good thinking."

"Did you just pay me a compliment?" Harry asked, feigning shock. "Wonders may never cease. And that was a joke," he quickly added. "But anyway... I think leaving the eastern flank intact is a necessity, in case this attack is meant to draw our attention away from a second force. The Urgals that escaped are still unaccounted for, remember."

"With any luck they've scarpered home, but you're right," Brom nodded. "Two hundred men is a lot for Saphira to deal with, but she can probably cause more than enough damage before they ever reach our camp."

"Shouldn't we consider sending her out to attack them now?" Trianna asked. "With a magician like Harry on-hand, they might be completely deterred."

"No," Brom said, shaking his head. "That won't work, because if there are magicians and a competent commander they could seriously maim her. Besides, we still need her scouting ahead with Arya for as long as possible, in case this attack _is_ a rouse after all. Anything is possible with Galbatorix, remember."

"Ah, I see," Trianna said simply.

"_Don't worry, that was a good idea," _Harry told her reassuringly.

"_You have no need to patronise me."_

"_I'm sorry!" _he quickly thought to her, before she sent a tone of amusement. _"Oh, you're joking."_

"_Of course. But all the same, I know a good idea when I hear one, so you have no need to tell me," _she said sweetly.

"As you say, my dear," Harry said, hoping for a blush. He was always embarrassed by pet names himself. Then he swore internally after realising he had spoken out loud and drew strange looks from Brom and Jörmundur for his part. He coughed to distract them.

"Yes... I think you'd better go," Brom said with amusement.

"Seconded," Trianna said, half-mortified. She grabbed Harry's hand and practically led him outside against his will, where he had the good grace to blush.

"Oops?" he asked, scratching his head and grinning sheepishly.

Trianna rolled her eyes. "I don't mind, really. Your friend already saw to everybody finding out; although why you told him I'll never know."

"I didn't!" Harry protested. "He worked it out! The man's like a bloody mind reader... actually, he is, although he could tell from my expression when you sat down."

"Well, too late to worry," Trianna said, flashing him a reassuring smile. "And we're not children, so it doesn't bother me. Does... does it bother you?" she asked uncertainly, the smile fading.

"What? That people know? Of course it doesn't," he said at her nod. He smiled and kissed her gently, which helped him receive another in return. "I couldn't care less, because the only people who matter are standing right here, talking about it."

"You mean Brom and Jörmundur?" she asked cheekily, sticking a thumb over her shoulder.

"I see Angela has taught you well, my young Padawan."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Why do I feel like I've forgotten something?" Harry asked rather suddenly, frowning.

"Murtagh," she pointed out. "But I can see him from here, so don't panic just yet."

"Really? Avert your eyes," Harry joked, looking around. It was now pitch black, but she seemed to have very good eyesight, something which Harry envied slightly. He had to strain his good eye to catch a glimpse of Murtagh. Thankfully, he was already dressed again, his burns visible from even their current distance.

"Oh, ha ha," Trianna deadpanned, following his lead. Together, they two of them walked over to see how he was doing. He appeared to be struggling slightly, as his tunic was rather damp and he grimaced with each step of dressing fully.

"Don't worry, I'm... going... to endure," he said, gasping as he buckled his belt and forced his boots on. "Gods above, that potion only half-worked, Harry."

"It'll get better," Harry promised. "Just be thankful you can still move around. Even with magic it's a bloody miracle you're walking after only regaining consciousness tonight."

"No need to remind me," Murtagh muttered, grimacing as he stood upright and dusted himself off. His hair was dripping wet. "Well, at least I feel clean again."

"I'm very happy for you," Trianna said gently. "Angela was mostly responsible for administering your treatment, but I was happy to assist. Seeing you better is a huge relief."

"Thank you for helping me," Murtagh said, looking at his feet. "I... I'm uncomfortable with being helpless, but I appreciate your understanding. Harry, make sure you treat this one right."

"What? How did you-"

"You're holding hands," Murtagh pointed out.

Harry moved his fingers a little and saw that he was indeed right. He hadn't even noticed. But, sticking to his agreement with Trianna, he didn't attempt to dissuade the notion. He merely nodded and said: "don't worry, I plan to, for as long as she'll have me."

"You mean for as long as she wants to be with you, or-"

"Yes, that's what I meant!" Harry cut-in, blushing. Murtagh smirked at his expression.

"I can see this being very fun, especially when Nyos throws his ideas into the mix."

"He already has," Harry muttered, thinking of the overly-explicit 'instructions' he had given at breakfast that morning. If he had his wand, hexes would probably be dished out before long.

As it stood, however, his practice of wandless magic hadn't exactly taken off as of yet. It had only been one day, however, so he wasn't entirely concerned as of yet. This was never going to be easy under the best of circumstances, and having a few moments to practice when on the run and planning a war was hardly that. Maybe he could afford more time to learning when they reached Ellesméra, although that could take up to three weeks or longer, depending on how easily the forest could be navigated. If the Elven wards were anything to go by on rumour, it would certainly not be easy.

Pushing those thoughts aside for the time being, he instead began to focus on the task at hand: thinking of how to place Du Vrangr Gata where they needed to be. It was easy said, but some of the civilians might feel disheartened if their magicians suddenly upped and left. Maybe there was a way to prevent them from finding out, or at least from panicking. As a last resort, they wouldn't have a choice but to accept it.

"Murtagh, we're going to be attacked," Harry said matter-of-factly. "Tomorrow at some point, most likely in the dark of night. When that happens, I want you to stay with Angela."

"You mean you want me to hide," Murtagh said, very unhappy.

"No, I want you to live. But since I don't trust you to sit it out, Angela will be keeping an eye on you. Trust me, there's no person in the entire convoy less inclined to be fooled, so don't even bother trying."

"You've put some thought into this," Murtagh said, grudgingly impressed.

"I put my friends' safety above all else," Harry said.

"And Eragon? You still have a story to tell."

Harry nodded. "Okay, let's go get something to eat, in that case. I can explain everything you've missed over something hot. And beside something h... no, I won't say it," he trailed off, catching Trianna's raised eyebrow.

She swatted his arm playfully, but whispering in his ear. "I'll make you pay for that later."

Murtagh coughed audibly, which gave Harry the cue he needed to lead the way, before he could think too much about her statement.

In the darkness nearby, a shadowy figure watched the trio leave with interest. So _that_ was the Harry the king was so interested in. He would make a fine hostage, if it came down to that. He was certainly observant, knowing that the attack was imminent. Despite considering him a natural enemy, Saleera was impressed.

But of course, he hadn't seen her. No one ever saw her without her will. Many people didn't even know she was a woman, and her decoy captain was proving a great help in that regard. Galbatorix had personally selected her to be an assassin, trained in magic, after the eggs had been stolen. She was already a proficient spellcaster, but now she outmatched any magician in his army. There was no way she could hope to match the Riders, of course, but that was where stealth came into play. If she wasn't found, there would be no need to fight.

Quickly and quietly, she began to scout the area around the command tent, looking for potential weaknesses that would come in handy tomorrow night.

And for the potential hiding place of a certain dragon egg.


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

**A:N - **I apologise if you happened to read the first version of this that I published. It was an older draft, where the twins were not outed as spies, but still with the Varden undercover. Honestly, I forgot it still existed, which is why I uploaded the wrong file by accident. Since I usually proof-read in document manager, this was really a stroke of bad fortune. I thank StrawHatLuffy94 for bringing the issue to my attention, and I removed it as quickly as possible. The updated version has now been uploaded, but just to clarify: the twins are NOT still there, as Durza revealed their positions and Eragon told Harry they escaped right before he collapsed after fighting the Shade in Farthen Dur.

Sorry for any confusion on this matter.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Six – The Third One**

* * *

The history of Alagaësia spawned many centuries past, with much being completely undocumented. This led to a lack of knowledge regarding, among other things, The Grey Folk, a long-believed extinct race of beings considered by many to be of almost mystical proportions. Little was known about the dwarves, and even less about the elves, mysterious races who kept to themselves for the most part. Humankind rarely had access to their records, and when they did, such historians were considered to be very fortunate indeed.

Yet, despite the ever-ensuing mystery surrounding other races, it was commonly accepted that there had been no greater exodus than the current one in all of living memory. The flood from Urû'baen paled in comparison to the ongoing outcrop of men, women and children, not to mention Orik's contingent of dwarven warriors from Dûrgrimst Igneitum. The exact number could not be calculated due to losses from the recent battle, but it was estimated to be around three to four thousand. That was not to say many more people did not desert Urû'baen. In fact, the opposite held true. The difference here was the _intent_ behind the mass migration.

It was flee or die, quite simply put.

"I still can't scry Eragon," Harry said. "I'd forgotten about Hrothgar's gifts for the Riders."

"Don't worry about it," Brom replied. "You can still scry the townspeople, correct?"

Harry nodded. "I've seen Roran several times now and caught a glimpse of Eragon once or twice. The background isn't coloured, so he must be making good progress. Besides that, I'm afraid I can't report anything new. Contacting somebody on the other side would require a lot of energy, and I'd rather keep that in reserve for this attack tonight."

"Understood," Brom said. "We can attempt that later. For now it's enough to know that he's safe and moving in the right direction."

"What about that mysterious little creature of yours?" Jörmundur asked thoughtfully. "Could he help us?"

"Kreacher needs more time to rest before he can do anything," Harry pointed out. "I'm sure he'll be able to move much more freely when he's had that chance."

"Hmm... very well. There are no other 'house elves' under your service, are there?"

"I'm afraid not," Harry said, shaking his head. "The only other one who could have helped died fighting at the end of our war. She would have been a great aid to us."

"It matters not," Jörmundur said after a brief silence. "Provided Eragon is in no immediate danger there should be no complications. You managed to eliminate every soldier in Carvahall, correct? Then no magician can alert the king to his current whereabouts," he finished after Harry's affirmation.

"What of mine own people?" Orik asked. "We've been left at the rear this entire trip so far. Surely we can be of use in the night attack."

That was the dwarf's reason for being present. He wasn't there to complain about unfair treatment, but dwarves didn't like to sit idly whilst a battle was ongoing. Harry couldn't blame him, but still...

"I'm afraid we need you where you are," Jörmundur said. "If we run into difficulties the civilians will need an escort to safety, and the dwarves know this area better than anyone."

"Not likely," Orik snorted. "We've come so far that this land is new to most of my kinsmen. Dirt and salt it is, not rock and mountain. We would be of little to no use in an evacuation scenario."

"We can't dismantle the rear guard for an attack we, by all counts, should be able to handle by ourselves," Jörmundur said, a touch sternly. "I'm sorry, Grimsborith Orik, but that's my last word."

"As you command," Orik sighed. "If there's nothing else I should be getting back again. The lads will want to know what's transpired."

"Very well," Jörmundur said. After some brief saluting all round, the dwarf left.

"Are we sure this can be handled alone?" Harry asked, once he had. He gave a quiet signal to the other two then, letting them know that his charm had kicked in. She was there, which meant they had to guard their tongues. They gave him identical nods of recognition. "I don't want to think the numbers of our enemy have been underestimated. Or hidden, for that matter."

"Carn has confirmed it and reconfirmed it a dozen times in the past twelve hours," Brom said with confidence. "We have nothing to fear, provided we stick to the plan. _Your_ plan, I might add."

"I know that," Harry pouted. "I just want to be sure."

"Responsibility is tough to shoulder," the old man said. "But it's something we all get used to after some time in command. You will too."

Not wanting to speak of this anymore, Harry nodded. "What of the egg? If this is a theft attempt..."

"It'll stay here, guarded by Angela and one other member of Du Vrangr Gata. You decide who."

"Isn't that a little lax?" Jörmundur asked, sounding worried.

Harry smiled to himself. This was all a part of the plan, of course. He was looking forward to laughing at the thief's failed attempt to steal the red egg. By his thoughts, she was likely outside the tent at that very moment, listening to the conversation with _rapt _interest. She wasn't as clever as she might have thought herself to be. Really, Galbatorix should have known better.

"We need our magicians to be in the action, as a precaution," Brom noted. "And Harry has already organised Du Vrangr Gata along the western flank, remember. Arya will also be there, as will us three for security. That leaves Angela and one other, at most."

Outside, Saleera was practically drooling to herself in glee. One weakling magician and the fortune teller? Hah! This would be simple if all went to plan.

"_How did you find her?" _Saphira asked with interest, through a secured mental link.

"_My supersensory charm caught a glimpse of her last night," _Harry replied. _"I didn't dare accost her unless there was more than one and they panicked, but I've swept the area and had Nyos do a scan himself. He can detect magicians better than anyone, remember. There are no others."_

"_You could sound a little smugger."_

"_So you _do_ have a sense of humour? How apt. But I've been smug so infrequently of late. Surely you can give me this day off?"_

Saphira snorted as she flew above the camp, a little away from the command tent. _"One of these days someone is going to cut that silver tongue of yours out, and it'll look great to go with that eye of yours."_

"_Ouch."_

Harry smirked. In truth, he had caught a lucky break, but who was to say they didn't deserve that? Things had been going the way of the Varden for a few days now. Routing the Urgals... rescuing Eragon's people... learning about the attack... it made a nice change having the odds stacked in their favour. It wouldn't last, of course, but he could at least enjoy it while it did. This was another stick to throw onto the fire, if not a particularly large one.

"Very well," Jörmundur said, consenting after a few moments of deliberation. He knew the plan as well, of course. This was all part of the act. "We have a few hours until night falls, so let's determine the best position for our bottleneck. Harry, I'll leave you to it."

Harry, adopting a more serious face, nodded and retrieved the egg from its hiding place in a locked chest at the back of the pavilion. He disabled the magical wards he had personally placed around the wood first, and then opened the lid carefully, so her hearing enhancements wouldn't alert her to what he was doing. Afterwards, he replaced it with what they had determined and stuck the egg quickly in his leather pouch, where it shrunk automatically.

Alerting the thief to the plan of bottlenecking the enemy was a risk, but it was important to let her believe she had the upper hand, or she might grow suspicious and decide the risk wasn't worth it anymore. They couldn't let that happen. They needed to capture her tonight for interrogation before she managed to escape. This was the only real chance they would have.

_Those fools don't even realise I'm here,_ Saleera said. _This can't be a trap, because no one has managed to see me yet, and my mental defences are lowered so no magician will discover what I am. In other words, I'm clearly on top at the moment. If this really was a ruse they wouldn't be planning a bottleneck, but I can see the troops forming positions and planting stakes from over here. They aren't just trying to throw me off._

_Idiots. Well, I'll let them continue with their plans. If my men suddenly deviate, they might suspect a thief is in the vicinity, and I can't afford to have them think that. I need to take the opportunity to steal the dragon egg now. I know it's in there. I can almost _feel_ the wards, they're so powerful. But I've been trained by His Grace himself. This should be easy, easier than I thought. _

"_I wonder if she'll change course now," _Harry said. _"Probably not, just in case she thinks we'll be suspicious."_

"_I hope you're right, Harry," _Aru said in his deepening voice. _"This is risky."_

"_Have faith in me, Arucane,"_ Harry said. _"If we capture her we'll have one of the king's personal servants in our custody."_

"_How do you know for certain?"_

"_He would never send a lesser magician on a mission like this," _Harry said simply. _"If this plan works, we'll be one step closer to proving Galbatorix's desperation to retrieve the egg. Unless he thinks there's more than one... no, scratch that. If the thief is sending back regular reports he knows by now that you've hatched. You're hardly inconspicuous."_

"_I'll take that as a compliment, being a son-of-the-sky."_

"_Do. I thought you would like it."_

After purposefully dropping some false information about the size of their forces and the dwarven armies, Harry left the tent with perfect casualness. He wanted to meet Trianna and Murtagh for lunch, before checking on Du Vrangr Gata. His spell let him know instantly that the thief hadn't moved, but he would be cautious for a while, just in case. It had taken a while to master the supersensory charm, but what a useful piece of magic it had turned out to be. He _almost_ didn't miss his eye anymore.

Saleera watched the surprisingly young leader of Du Vrangr Gata depart with interest. He couldn't be older than twenty, if even that. As a friend of the Rider, that most likely meant _he_ would also be incredibly young for one of such prestige. The king had suspected the pair to be youthful, but even he wouldn't have foreseen this. They could hardly be more than children.

_He's rather handsome,_ she simpered. _It's a pity my liege wants him dead, but I live to serve. At least I know the egg is still in there. He couldn't be carrying it anywhere on his person, or I would see the outline even through any fabric. He certainly seems to know a lot, however. I wonder... could the smaller dragon belong to him? It's possible. _

Deciding to stay present for the time being, Saleera readjusted her position slightly. She had been crouching beside a series of other tents, which had entrances on the opposite sides. That meant no one would angle around behind her by accident, and she was hidden from the view of the command tent. Cutting a couple of small holes in the material was more than enough to let her observe the goings on of Varden hierarchy without giving away her position. They really were a disappointment in that regard. Saleera had been hoping for a challenge.

* * *

_That woman has no idea what she's gotten herself into,_ Harry thought, shaking his head as he headed for Murtagh and Trianna's table with a bowl of stew and cup of water. He nearly felt sorry for her on some level, before dispelling that notion as quickly as it arrived. She was the enemy, fact. Nothing else mattered.

"How many know of this?" Trianna asked quietly as he sat.

"Us three, Angela, Arya and the three commanders," Harry muttered, starting to eat. The stew was as simple as ever, but it felt good after a hard day of manoeuvring through the humid conditions of what was essentially the Hadarac outskirts.

"And the dragons?" Murtagh asked.

"Of course," Harry nodded. "Aside from that, nobody. We want to keep this as quiet as possible."

"Where do you want me?" Murtagh asked immediately, frowning in concentration.

Harry grimaced. "We've been over this already. You aren't fighting. If you get yourself killed... well, that would be stupid, wouldn't it?" he asked rhetorically.

"Damn it, Harry, I'm no use sitting on my ass all day!" Murtagh exclaimed. "I want to do _something_ worthwhile, even if I can't fight!"

"Okay," Harry motioned, noting the glances they were now receiving. "I had an idea about that anyway. There's something I need you to do. We need our best fighters out there tonight, just in case, and there's no one I trust more anyway."

"What is it?" Murtagh asked, curious.

"Uh uh, not here," Harry said, shaking his head. "I'll tell you when we're somewhere private."

Murtagh blinked, before shrugging and leaving it at that. He knew the importance of maintaining discretion where brute force couldn't win the day. If he was needed for subterfuge or anything of the sort, he would take such a mission and be very happy for the allocation all the while. He knew rightly he was much too weak to fight, so if this was the best he could do... well, at least it was _something._

"What about me?" Trianna asked pointedly. "I hope you don't want me back with the healers again. I'm a better fighter than most of those magicians."

"God knows I do," Harry muttered, "but I know you'd never consent anyway. And it's your decision. If you want to fight, then I can't exactly stop you. But you'll have to work with hardened warriors, so be prepared for some arrogance as the order of the day."

"I think I can manage that," she replied, smiling. "I spent a long time working with the twins before you appeared."

"Wasn't it only a couple of years?" Harry frowned.

"That felt like a long time with them," Trianna explained.

"Ah, fair enough."

"Why have those bastards not been clapped in irons?" Murtagh growled. "I've always been suspicious of them, especially after they insulted me without cause, but they didn't even fight at Farthen Dûr! And then Durza admitted they were spies!"

"They haven't been found," Harry said, shaking his head. "After the battle both of them managed to escape, probably with the remnants of the Urgal army. At the very least, we'll kill them if they ever show their faces again."

"I... I see," Murtagh said grudgingly. "Well, I'm just frustrated that they managed to elude capture. Can you remember our argument from before? I had just renounced my father and they tried to insult me about being a 'bastard'. I guess they were sore that I had betrayed the king."

"I remember," Harry deadpanned. "You almost came to blows."

"I nearly decapitated one of them," Murtagh corrected. "I should have. And how do you remember? Weren't you... err, sick that day?"

"Oh, are we still going with that story?" Trianna asked, rolling her eyes as Murtagh looked at her sheepishly. "I know he was looking after his house elf now. He told me that himself."

"Ah. Okay, then," Murtagh said, scratching his head in embarrassment. "My mistake."

"Don't worry," Harry laughed, "it's hardly impor-"

"Rider Harry!"

Harry looked up and sighed inwardly. Two of his magicians, Jara and Glind, stood there. Those two seemed to be doing their best replication of the twins in their animosity, as they had been a thorn in his side ever since he took command. Out of everything that came with leading Du Vrangr Gata, this was definitely his most hated part of the job.

"Yes, what is it, Jara?"

"What are you doing sitting here? We thought you had been ordered to prepare the defences!"

"What way is that to speak to your commander?" Murtagh demanded, glaring at the impudent man. "Show some respect!"

Harry held up a hand to stop him. "It's fine, Murtagh. Maybe you two aren't aware of this, but I sent orders through Tasha earlier, explicitly stating that all of you were required to rest up, get some food and recover your strength before any extreme physical exertion."

"I... I hadn't heard," Jara said, blinking rather foolishly. The man was prone to ignoring orders, but that didn't stop his complacency from spilling over on a near-constant basis. "Maybe if you were to give the orders yourself-"

"I give the orders through an intermediary for a reason!" Harry snapped, his patience running out fast. "Tasha already has an open channel with the lot of you, and I won't compromise that! Who do you think Galbatorix himself would go after in battle, me, or a random magician? If he were to break into my mind and discover I'm connected with you, he could wipe the entire company out without breaking a sweat! Is that really what you want?"

"I... no, of course not," Glind spluttered, "but why do you not-"

"I will organise separate squads to provide better security all-around as soon as we've completed our evacuation," Harry said firmly. "Until then, we can't afford any distractions, so Tasha takes charge of maintaining communication channels for now, while Trianna receives messages from the scouts both east and west of the convoy. There's a reason Tasha isn't fighting, you know. Your link won't be compromised. Besides, I'll kill any enemy magician that I find. Make no mistake."

Jara gulped, swallowing hard. Maybe he had underestimated this boy. "Very well, but... your orders... what is-"

"We don't fight on an empty stomach," Harry declared, standing up tall. Both older men paled slightly. He let the now-empty bowl clatter to the table to prove his point. "I want the entire ensemble of magicians to be well-fed and rested before battle. That goes for the two of you as well. But as it stands, most of them are already carrying out those orders. What are _you_ doing, exactly?"

"We... we were-"

"Trying to undermine my authority so you could steal the position," Harry stated blankly. All eyes were now on the conversation at the centre of the room. "I'll let it go this once, but if you _ever_ have the nerve to disobey orders and then try to supplant me at the same time again, I'll deal with you personally. I've never been a fan of physical punishment like flogging, but I know a lot of humiliating, menial jobs that would suit you down to the ground. And I mean that literally, because you'd be shovelling horse shit for weeks to come."

"We would never do that!" Jara protested. "We were simply..."

"Negligent?" Harry suggested, raising his eyebrows as Jara struggled to find the words. "That's just as bad, according to military authority. And if it is true, it goes to prove you're doing nothing but running around, playing grab-ass with everybody in Du Vrangr Gata. No, that doesn't mean anything perverted," he said, holding a hand up to silence their inbound protests. "It means that you're being a pair of cantankerous shits, and, quite frankly, I'm bored of it."

Jara and Glind were astounded. They couldn't believe the power this young man was displaying, if not necessarily magical. He clearly had the advantage here. All of their attempts to seize control... wasted. The twins had been in command, with Trianna having a brief run herself, but now this boy... he was something else entirely. They really had bitten off more than they could chew. Making their stifled apologies after a shared glance, the two quickly turned to leave, but Harry stopped them before they could depart. He had one more thing to say.

"Rest and then form a squad of fifteen magicians to integrate with Brom's troops at the centre. Each magician will be responsible for protecting the minds of ten people; no more, no less. I'll command the rest myself. Now, you have your orders _directly_. I suggest you follow them this time."

They left in a hurry then.

Barely a second after they disappeared from view, Murtagh burst into fits of pained-looked laughter. He doubled over with the effort, his head resting on the table and his fists clenched. Harry could have sworn he saw a tear or two.

"That was brilliant!" he gasped, almost breathless. "The looks on their faces! Oh, I thank you for this, my friend, for I needed that. I don't even know those two... but they seem like horrible bastards. That was amazing."

Despite himself, Harry managed a grin. "I don't want to ruin the effect, but... yep. Felt pretty good."

"Those two deserve everything they get," Trianna declared, laughing almost as hard as Murtagh, who was still at it. "I remember them from before you arrived; they hovered in the background constantly, trying to imitate the twins. Seeing them deal with manure would be refreshing."

"The smell wouldn't," Harry said, wrinkling his nose.

Trianna swatted his arm playfully. "Git."

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You've picked that one up, then?"

"Maybe," she said, "but you'll have to teach me more. Your people have such an endearing variety of slang words, even if most of them are insults and swears."

"Be grateful I didn't come here speaking Cockney rhyming slang," Harry said, and he refused to give examples when they pressed him.

As it was still daylight, there was no danger of an attack commencing for several hours. Still, Harry was feeling rather on-edge. He couldn't shake the feeling that the whole thing was a trap of some sort. It was just too simplistic for Galbatorix. Had he really outthought the mad king, or was that what he was supposed to think? Was this female thief truly Galbatorix's wild card? Did he really have that much faith in her?

Harry couldn't answer these questions until tonight. What he could do was organise the magicians under his command, so he took to the task with renewed gusto, ensuring there would be no gaps within the ranks and no vulnerabilities. Anyone wounded in Farthen Dûr was staying out of the action entirely, their energy to be given to the healers specified for that role. Naturally, Harry wasn't happy with Trianna being in the front ranks, but there was nothing he could do about the situation. He wasn't sexist by any means. Hell, how could he be? He had seen firsthand the strength that people such as Hermione, Arya and Angela brought to the battlefield. The only problem was that it was _Trianna_, and he was worried for her safety. But he would have been worried for anyone he cared about, whether man or woman. Why did it make a difference which was which?

"_Then again, isn't she naturally worried for your safety as well, my friend?" _Aru asked, as he drew a whetstone along the blade of Aiedail. Lacking a wand meant he couldn't repair the damage with magic, not that there was much from Carvahall.

"_Most likely," _Harry said, pausing in the act to contemplate. _"And it's probably terrible of me to say this, but I'd partly like that to be true. On the one hand I don't want her to worry, but on the other I like the feeling of being cared for that much by someone. I wish... I wish it wasn't necessary."_

"_So do we all."_

* * *

Murtagh hurried to Angela's small carriage-tent hybrid, his arms laden with the bundle Harry had handed him in secret. It contained the red dragon egg, wrapped carefully in a variety of cloths and towels. He was to keep it safe, with help from Aru and Solembum, who wouldn't be fighting, and who Harry swore were more than a match for any thief, magician or not. It was still rather light security-wise, but Murtagh understood it probably wouldn't be required anyway. It was one of the last places most people would look.

"I forgot you could do that," Murtagh blinked, as he saw Solembum sitting in the form of a shaggy-haired boy.

Solembum didn't reply, but eyed him intently. He was here because he had an interest in being so and nothing else. Even the fortune teller knew not to try and give him orders, because it wouldn't go well for anyone.

"Err... I'll sit over here," Murtagh offered, pointing at his cot from yesterday. He had been given a tent of his own, but had yet to stay there. It had only been one day since he awoke, after all.

"_Don't mind him," _Aru said, once Murtagh let him in. _"He doesn't talk much, except to me and Saphira. Even Angela might struggle to get a few words from him at a time."_

"That's a relief," Murtagh said. "I thought he didn't like me or something."

Solembum blinked. _"Who says I do?"_

Murtagh gulped when Aru relayed his words. It was never a good thing to be on the bad side of a werecat, for whatever reason.

"Well, if I've offended you, I apologise," Murtagh said in his most courteous tone of voice.

"_Who says I don't either?"_

Murtagh sighed. This was going to be a long night.

Slightly further up the convoy, command found a useful place for Harry's trap to be set. The river curved away from the Varden just enough so that the civilians might pitch alongside the meander, and have the water both to their right and behind. This left a slight but noticeable gap along the western perimeter, which was partially covered by mounds of earth and dunes of sand several miles long, forming the closest thing to a beach Harry had seen since arriving in Alagaësia, even if it was missing the tide. There must have been a lakebed here thousands of years ago, until climate change formed the desert.

Harry knew the thief would relay their position to the company attacking them, so he ensured their efforts to pitch the civilian tents in the open were obvious, but not obvious enough to attract her undue suspicion. To put it simply, their trap would be set in a half-mile gap between two sets of dunes, where the land evened out to form a makeshift gateway. Any observer would think the civilians were being put here so that archers could shoot down upon any advancing army, but he deliberately left the number of archers short, so that the enemy wouldn't be afraid to attack. Then, when the travelling homes were in place, he used his supersensory charm to search for the thief.

He finally found her after an hour of searching. She was close to the centre, trying to act inconspicuous by collecting food and firewood. She must have realised constantly hanging around the commanders would only attract attention.

That was all the signal he needed. From there, the Varden got to work. The civilians were quickly moved to the riverbed, where they were required to lie in more crowded residencies for the time being. After that was completed, a good two hundred available pavilions were filled with several soldiers apiece, who were instructed not to leave until the signal was given that night, although several did occasionally strut around, dressed as civilians to maintain the ruse. Smiling ruefully, Harry then ordered the 'obvious' military setup, which was to have soldiers position themselves among the ranks. In short, it looked like half and half, but it was really entirely militaristic. What would appear to be several hundred measured well over one thousand.

He only hoped they wouldn't be attacked from two directions at once, because the bulk of the Varden's warriors were in on this act. When the thief returned to her previous position, the inevitable had already begun. Harry would have waited for this signal anyway. Nothing would have been put in place until she had left for a little while. Therein had laid the risk. Thankfully, she was human, and did need to keep up appearances, although she probably thought it was going to help her win the night. The best thing was, even if she saw the civilians being moved, she couldn't make any assumptions because they were moving constantly anyway. It was almost like a buzzing city.

When Saleera returned, she noticed that more soldiers had been posted alongside the western perimeter, beside the civilian resting areas. Those were full with women and children, she knew, which would make them a perfect place to attack. There were slightly less archers than usual posted along the 'watchtowers', which made her think of one thing only. They were trying to guile her forces into not attacking. It was obviously a false show of strength, designed to hope the enemy commander would think their true numbers were being hidden, and thus they shouldn't attack.

_What nonsense. I know the Varden don't have enough warriors to protect all sides of this convoy. That's why they pitched close to the riverbed and why they're relying on deception. They even need to stay so tightly packed that civilian tents had to be erected near the dunes. That's either poor leadership, desperate... or a trap. _

_But it couldn't be a trap, could it? The Varden don't have the numbers to stage such an ambush. Those tents are filled with people who can't fight. I know that for a fact because the tents are aligned differently, according to requirements. Soldiers are given larger quarters to store their gear, so those hold only non-combatants. And just looking around I can see how many men have been mustered here. Command let a few numbers slip earlier, but they also said most of those warriors are scouting ahead for tomorrow, as they expect trouble reaching the end of the river. _

_In other words, the only military strength focused around this area is what I can see, but that number is no greater than three, maybe four hundred. The rest are either ahead, or spread among the camp in a sporadic manner. It should all add up in the end. At the very least, they could have stationed additional soldiers within each military-grade tent, but I doubt their footmen would agree to that with great spirits, so even if it's true that might work to our advantage. Torching the entire area should be effective. And this all means that the number of archers probably was their real figure, even if a handful here and there were hidden. _

After thinking a while longer, Saleera found a quiet area to scry her stand-in captain.

"Tonight is the night," she said quietly. "Attack the flat terrain among the area I show you. The enemy outnumbers you, but with surprise on our side we should win. Be careful of archers among the dunes, although there shouldn't be too many. Move quickly and ruthlessly. This area is packed with civilians. I expect you to do what's necessary. Do _not_ kill the blue dragon if she appears. That order comes directly from the king."

"Of course, my lady," he said, nodding. "We were selected for this mission because we are the king's most esteemed followers. We will do whatever he commands, and he gave you power over us. We are your servants."

Saleera sent the directions and ended the contact. She knew there would be enemy magicians among this crowd, in an attempt to deter. Those would be kept nice and busy, however, which was a good thing. Now she just needed to make sure her means of escape was covered. Once that was done, she could wait for nightfall, and then grab the egg as soon as the fighting started.

_Maybe this is even easier than the king thought. The Varden truly must be a band of barbaric savages to bother with such trivial means of illusion. It was certainly going to be fun, robbing them of their hope for the war. _

It was just a pity she couldn't kill the green Rider before escaping. She hadn't been able to find out where he slept. And she hadn't determined the identity of the blue dragon's Rider either. Either they were being kept hidden, or it was one of the two commanders. Either way, the king expressly forbade her to harm that one, so it mattered not.

_I'm going to win this and make my king proud, _she thought happily.

_I've got you up against the ropes, and you don't even see it, _Harry smirked to himself.

* * *

"I hope you're right about this," Brom muttered quietly, his voice right next to Harry's ear.

"For the last time: stop saying that!" Harry hissed, glowering at the old man. "You agreed to this and we can't back out now. Angela and Arya have their end covered, so now we only have to do our bit."

"If our bit doesn't get us killed," Jörmundur offered.

"These tents are completely safe."

"That's not what I meant!"

"_Harry, they're approaching," _Saphira relayed.

Harry shushed the tent he was currently crouched in, somewhere near the front right of their lure spot. This had to be timed perfectly.

"_Arya, give me an update," _Harry said.

"_There is no sign of the thief just yet," _Arya replied, _"but I suspect she will not make her move until the fighting begins." _

"Won't she run when she realises this was a trap?" Jörmundur asked.

"No. She knows this is her only chance because of the extra measures we would inevitably take to protect the egg after an attack," Harry said. "It doesn't make a difference to her how many people die on either side. All she wants is the egg itself."

Jörmundur went to say something else at that moment, but Harry held up a hand to stop him. The sound of trampling boots could be heard, growing louder with each second. The imperial soldiers were probably wary of being spotted by Saphira, but she knew not to let herself be seen until Harry gave the signal. With luck, this could be ended with minimal casualties to their own forces.

"_They're approaching the dunes," _Saphira said. _"Archers are moving up the hills from their end, but our own haven't been spotted yet. I would estimate thirty seconds, little one."_

"_Tasha, twenty five seconds to mark," _Harry relayed.

"_Got it. Preparing signal," _the female magician said.

"_Five... four... three... two... mark!"_

In that instant, the entire area was lit with dozens of flare-like spells and a massive bronze horn began to sound, reverberating through the camp like a lively drumbeat at a rock concert. Harry drew his sword and dashed from the tent, Brom and Jörmundur in his side. The Varden were streaming out now, and the imperials had begun to shoot down upon them. Giving a hand signal, Brom ordered the Varden to return fire, and the archers who had been pressed along the faces of the dunes took several steps back, their bows already drawn.

Harry didn't watch as they took aim and fired in tandem, impaling dozens of Galbatorix's fanatics all at once, but he heard the screams as men fell several metres onto the ground, and more than once an arrow or two came dangerously close to catching him in the face. He ran as the swordsmen poured from their hiding places. Groups became squads, and squads became companies. They charged forth, ramming into the front line of the enemy's ranks, taking them by surprise, just as Saphira appeared overhead. She rained fire upon the rear ranks, scorching the earth and making escape impossible. Harry was amazed by her newfound power.

From there, Harry directed the left flank as Jörmundur took the right and Nyos occupied the centre. The three of them spurred their men onwards, seeing that the Empire's morale was all but shattered already. They had barely set foot in the Varden's perimeter, and already they were trapped between hundreds of bloodthirsty men, outraged that their families were being attacked, and towers of billowing flames.

Harry cut left and right, his shield parrying as he sliced through armour like butter. Aiedail was stained red once again and everywhere in sight a mass of bodies and a cacophony of screams captured the night air. He even passed Jara and Glind at one stage, glancing as they fought to prove themselves, or so he hoped. But he had no time to wonder, for he was forced to defend again. Unlike Farthen Dûr, however, the Varden were not the ones outnumbered. To his pleasant surprise, Harry found himself backed by a dozen swordsmen, who drove through the solitary enemy that had attacked him all at once with feral snarls. Trianna was at his side, and his worries were vanquished by her flawless technique and drive to impress. She had clearly been trained well at some point.

When he encountered one magician of note, he smashed through the man's wards with a few flame spells and then dispatched him with a thrust to the heart. Afterwards, it was a simple matter of touching the minds of the magician's delegated soldiers and speaking one of the twelve words of death. He repeated this process twice more, killing both magicians single-handedly. One cowered at the end, but Harry could show no mercy and gave him a quick death with his sword. The other put up a better fight, but could not cope with the stress of feeling his wards collapse so suddenly. It was all too easy for Harry to smash through his mental barriers and utter the word he needed. Around him, a multitude of dead fell to the ground.

Nyos was also proving his worth once again, only now he felt slightly more resigned. Harry was the same, for these were people and not Urgals, but war was war. With a twist of his arm and a flick to the side, Nyos cut the arm off of the enemy captain, who fell to his knees screaming. A lunge through the man's skull was enough to silence him, but the flow of his blood was louder than anything, gushing as a mini-river in its own right.

Harry was almost surprised when he killed his final enemy that night. The man lost a head for his troubles, but he was one of the last to go. After that, only a handful remained. Harry gazed around as the remaining soldiers were put to the sword and spear, finding the situation pleasantly easy to bear. Unlike before, this had lasted less than ten minutes. He looked up, and saw that every archer stationed above had been dispatched, leaving absolutely no one on the enemy side remaining.

All in all, over two hundred men had been killed, but the Varden had lost only a fraction of that amount. His trap had worked immeasurably well. Better than he could have hoped.

"How many?" Brom asked. He had reappeared near the end, after the archers had finished their part.

Someone did a quick headcount. "Sixteen dead, thirty seven wounded."

"Sixteen?" Harry asked in disbelief, blood splattered over his face and armour. "How the hell did we get so lucky?"

"We didn't. We had you," Brom grinned.

Harry blinked, but chose not to answer that. He was only a small cog in a bigger machine. "The thief!" he realised.

"Present and accounted for," Angela declared happily, appearing, as per usual, from nowhere. "She tried to struggle, but Arya and I beat her down."

"I can see that," Harry said, taking in the woman's broken nose. She meant it literally. "Was that strictly necessary?"

"She didn't surrender until afterwards," Angela explained.

"Haha, how did you like our little gift?" Nyos grinned, appearing at Harry's side. The man towered over him, which really gave Harry a slight impression of Draco and Goyle. Except those two would have shit themselves after seeing the fighting tonight. And they couldn't have Nyos' sense of humour. The man had personally sculpted the wooden visage of Galbatorix being... _shafted_ by a pike that she had found in place of the egg. Arya and Angela had let her open the chest before subduing her. Nyos had told them he wanted to see the memory for her reaction.

The thief, a young woman only a little older than Harry, glowered at them all. She was tall, lean and sported short black hair. Her looks had probably suffered on account of that broken nose, but she didn't seem to care.

"You'll pay for this outrage," she hissed, seeming to know Harry was directly responsible. He wasn't sure if she was referring to the battle, or the mural. Judging from her reverence of the king, it could have been either.

Harry smirked at her. "This is your own fault. If you're the best Galbatorix has to offer, he's either trying to play with us... or he really is becoming desperate."

"I'll show you," she promised, "I'll show you all."

"You couldn't best Angela and Arya," Harry pointed out. "If you think you can deal with the rest of us together, you're sadly mistaken. But, since you're so _determined_ to know what went wrong, I'll tell you. We knew you were there the whole time. I saw you last night. The irony is that you could have prevented this massacre, but were unable to. If you had checked inside a handful of the tents, our ruse would have been up. But no, you played directly into our hands by going on the notion that we were too _stupid_ to trap the likes of you."

"You... you used my pride against me," Saleera realised, feeling a little bit of grudging respect. "I will never make that mistake again, so I advise you to kill me now."

"Alright," Harry said casually, drawing his sword again. He held it at her throat, drawing a look of wide-eyed fear. Scoffing, Harry sheathed the weapon once more. "You see? You have no desire to die. Stop acting high and mighty when you know I won't kill you. Take her to the detention area," he told a handful of guards. "Make sure you watch her at all times, along with three other magicians, minimum."

The men saluted and left with their prisoner, who didn't bother struggling.

"We need to be careful with her," Brom said. "She's still an enemy magician, so I won't underestimate her strength."

Harry nodded, agreed with that. He turned to Arya with a hopeful gaze, and she gave an affirmative gesture.

"I'll watch over her," the elf promised. She twisted her fist over her sternum in a gesture of respect, which Harry returned, and left to follow the prisoner.

"She won't talk," Harry said. "And I won't resort to torture."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Brom said. "She won't be harmed, but we need to get information from her somehow. But that can wait until tomorrow."

"You did very well," Nyos complimented, his voice low. Around him, the warriors began to depart under orders, although a select few remained to clear away the dead.

Harry was pleased to note that none of his magicians had been killed, especially since one of them meant a great deal to him. She stood next to him and the two exchanged a smile. Nyos left after congratulating him once more, following Brom and Jörmundur back to the command centre for a debriefing.

"I'm proud of you," Trianna said honestly.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly. Then he admitted: "I didn't know you were so good with a sword."

"My father taught me before he died," she told him. "But that was a long time ago. Since then I've tried to practice as much as possible, even if I can't compare to someone like you or Brom."

"I think you could hold your own," Harry said honestly, "though it'll never come to that. But... let's be honest here. This wasn't my doing. It was because of the men we were able to win tonight, not to mention Saphira. _You were amazing."_

"_I did it all for your undying praise," _Saphira snorted.

Harry rolled his eyes. _"You have it, in any case."_

"True... but we can talk about it later," she said slyly.

Harry grinned. _"Tasha, tell the others to take the rest of the night off. The healers can deal with the wounded. I want everybody as fit as possible for our march tomorrow. It'll be the last stretch of the river we deal with."_

"_Understood, sir," _she replied. _"And congratulations."_

"_Tell them not to congratulate me," _Harry winced, realising that was the third or fourth time in five minutes. _"They should congratulate themselves."_

It was only later that Harry realised Brom had let him do all the talking with the prisoner, but the knowledge surprised him. Either he didn't want to bother doing it himself, or he was letting Harry show even more of his potential command attributes. He hoped it had been a good impression. If he had heard the men talking about his exploits that night, he would have laughed at his own understatement.

For his own part, Murtagh had watched the melee from Angela's tent through a small hole he had cut in the side. Solembum hadn't been happy about that, but Murtagh had simply ignored him. He yearned to be out there, fighting with his new brothers-in-arms, but unless he was to abandon his current mission, that wouldn't happen.

When he saw Harry lead the charge, he felt a surge of pride. His friend had really come a long way in the short period they had known each other. Thankfully, he had succeeded, and with a shockingly minimal number of casualties. That had easily been the most impressive part. The Varden had fought as one under his command, although Jörmundur and Nyos had also played a massive role in that regard. Then Brom arrived after finishing the archers off, and the four pushed the enemy into oblivion without even blinking. If anything, the king should definitely fear the Varden's leadership. They were formidable.

_But what part do I play in this pantomime? _Murtagh wondered. _I certainly want to help kill the king, and then try to help ensure the politics of the land aren't lead astray afterwards. But I feel so... useless. These wounds will never fully heal, even if they aren't impeding on the whole. If only I could do more. _

Murtagh sighed, before growling and shaking his head furiously. _No! I won't consider myself helpless! I'm a better swordsman than most, even if I'm not as experienced! I can play a huge role in helping win this war, and I will! _

"The king won't beat me!" Murtagh declared. "I'll see to it that his head decorates a spike if it's the last thing I do!"

Behind him, something cracked. Murtagh wheeled around, and saw the ruby egg shaking from side to side. A crack appeared near the top, before snaking all the way around, like reddened veins in a living being. Another joined it, and then another...

And Murtagh watched, frozen with shock.


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

**Chapter Twenty Seven – The Allures of Du Weldenvarden**

* * *

Eragon observed the trees before him with a cautious eye, scrutinising the non-belligerent forest as both threat and refuge. It had been almost two weeks since the rescue of Carvahall, and he was growing restless. Due to the pendant Hrothgar had given him, nobody in the Varden could scry his position, so it fell unto him to make the connection in order to report current progress. He did that every evening, usually conversing with Harry or Brom, depending on who was available.

He missed Saphira terribly. It felt as though a part of him was absent, a hole in his heart that could not be filled but by her presence, which was unavailable. He spoke with her as often as possible, but scrying wasn't the same as a real connection, so it couldn't even content him now. She felt much the same and promptly told him so, causing him to apologise but also cite the need for protecting those he felt attached to, as family. His argument swayed her over when he pointed out she also fell into that distinction, and how he would give his life to protect her, so what was the difference?

"This place makes me feel more than a mite uneasy," Roran said, at his side.

Eragon blinked, taking account of the slimy and foreign matter upon the ancient tree trunks, as well as the unfriendly, piercing gaze of the forest's mind. Harry told him the section of Du Weldenvarden they were walking through was vastly different, courtesy of the elven presence. But this... it was something Eragon had never seen before, not even in the coldest depths of the Spine, nor the darkest tunnels of the Beor Mountains. The forest felt alive, perturbed by their presence, and he wished to leave as soon as possible.

"You're not alone," Eragon said. "I can hardly wait to put this place behind us, but finding a path is more difficult than I thought it would be. It seems like one wrong turn will have you lost for an eternity."

Roran shivered, "I've felt nothing warm about this place, cousin. I hope we didn't make a mistake in coming here."

"There is no other refuge," Eragon shook his head, "not unless you wish to join Galbatorix."

"Of course not."

"Then we're stuck with the woods for the time being."

The cousins were scouting ahead for the rest of the townspeople, a task both had come accustomed to in recent days. They had the keenest eyesight, the wariest minds and the most careful footing. Two people had already been killed from falls since their entry into the forest, so it was decreed that no one would move until the path was deemed safe. If it were not, they would divert.

_It slows our progress to a great degree, but I'd rather we got there in one piece than not at all, _Eragon thought. He narrowed his eyes to focus them upon the undergrowth nearby. There was little by way of sunlight beneath the canopies, making navigation all the more difficult. He dared not use magic, for the trees might see it as a threat and he was positive that would end very badly for them all.

"Ah, boys," Horst panted, striding up beside them. His normally-toned body was weather-beaten and he looked exhausted, as did they all. "Have we found a way?"

Eragon pointed. "I think there's a dirt track between a pair of oaks over there, but it's obscured by those ferns. I'd rather check it out before walking in. We all saw what happened to Harding."

Horst shivered. "Very well. But it might be best if we waited until the morning; some of the older ones are getting tired, and Elain..."

"I understand," Eragon nodded, noting the blacksmith looked relieved. He couldn't fault the man his cautions – this was a desolate place and none of the townspeople felt particularly safe. When you considered Elain's pregnancy... well, it made the nerves all the worse.

"What about the guides Harry promised?" Horst asked, as the trio made their way back to camp. "Will it be long before they get here?"

"I can't say for certain," Eragon said, "because even he doesn't know. They made contact with the elves several days ago and that would give them a head start, but I could only guess at where they are."

"It wouldn't do for them to take much longer," Roran grimaced. "Our stores of food aren't very enticing."

That was true. Supplies were always going to be a problem, even when some of the trees bore fruit for them to pick and there was sporadic game to hunt. It simply wasn't enough for feeding every single person, and the food they had brought with them was running dangerously low in stock. Several sheep had wandered off, never to be seen again, and Eragon was forced to use magic and draw water from tree sap when they went a day or two without stumbling across a stream. The continuous drain and physical toll of their trek meant he hadn't fully recovered from the skirmish back in the village, despite the time elapsed.

If anything his resolve was stronger, but his reserves weaker.

"Morn spotted a few deer about an hour ago, but they bounded away before we could fire so much as an arrow," Horst told them.

"That's no good," Eragon frowned. "We can't tarry for the sake of a deer or two. We need to keep moving. There need to be several hunters armed at all times when we're moving, in case it happens again."

"I already passed that on," Horst nodded.

"Good. How are the children?"

"Nervous, but we all are," Horst admitted. "The parents aren't letting them out of their sight and we're being careful to watch them at night, but I doubt they'll try to sneak off to play in this place."

They reached the makeshift camp. Roran clapped them both on the shoulders and left to find Katrina, who he was keeping as close to him as possible. Horst motioned for Eragon to sit with him around the fire. Several others were there, including his sons, Morn and Loring. Eragon had remembered the leather they stole from the latter before leaving for the first time, and had apologised several days ago on all their behalves. It had been an invaluable gift, he told the tanner, and vowed to repay him for the cost. Loring had merely waved a hand and said he owed the young Rider his life, which was a much more endearing debt than any amount of leather stolen.

"Be straight with us, Eragon," Horst began, and he braced himself for whatever this was about. "When we reach the elves, assuming we do, what will become of us? We know you have duties as a Rider, but many of us would be uncomfortable in the service of another race."

Eragon nodded. He had been expecting this conversation. "I wouldn't call it servitude, Horst. You would be allies in the war against Galbatorix and given the tools to do what you're best at, be it tanning, smithing or whatever the case may be. If that idea doesn't appeal to you, there is always the option of joining the Varden."

"And the Varden plan on doing the same," Horst said.

"Fighting Galbatorix?"

"Yes, but I meant feeding off the elves."

"I see. In a way, you _are_ right. But they won't be 'feeding' off of them, not by a long shot. The Varden are a proud people and would sooner take care of themselves. What you'll see is two allies giving aid to one another and pooling their resources to fight a common enemy. That's how it was with the dwarves. The elves have promised the Varden land to rebuild, and in exchange the Varden will give them assistance in defending their borders from the Empire.

"I'm sure this is a daunting prospect for all of you, but I really don't know how to soften the blow," Eragon admitted. "This is _war._ Surda has been annihilated and the Urgals are in on the act as well. Once Galbatorix marches against the elves nowhere will be safe, not even these woods. He _cannot_ be allowed to win. And he won't."

There was a hushed silence, but for the crackling of the fire. Several pairs of eyes drank his words, but otherwise looked resigned to their fate. Eragon couldn't help but feel annoyed. The world needed to wake up and realise what was happening. It was past time the common people made a stand, whether it be against the Empire or the corruption of the royal court. But fear stifled all efforts to liberate the oppressed, since raw power was political power and the king held that in abundance. Harry had told him about Murtagh. They now had three Riders, yet the king still held the overwhelming advantage.

In all honesty, that irritated him.

"What can we do to help?" Loring asked in his quiet voice. "We're just a group of peasants from a sacked town, with no experience in warfare or in politics."

"You can be the voice of all those who scream for justice," Eragon said. "Gods know the world is counting on we few. What better way to tip the scales in our favour than to swell our numbers? With more allies we might yet succeed. Trust me, you'll all do a world of good. And if you feel you aren't then pick up a sword, march onto the battlefield and kill every imperial in sight. That'll certainly help us when we need it most."

* * *

"Every day now. Every day. The Sun may set and the moon rise. It might change its shape, might not appear before being reborn in the stars above. The rain may blister all in sight, thunder crashing in the silence. Or there may be no wind at all, but an uneasy calm filled with icy breath. It matters not. Every. Single. Day."

"I feel you're exaggerating," Harry said. "It's been fewer than two weeks. Surely my company isn't that boring."

Saleera sneered at her captor. She sat in a dank cell, looking haggled and feeling rotten. No one had mistreated her, but the humiliation of being left in such a place was unbearable. Harry had no sympathy for her plight. She deserved much worse.

"Every day!" she screamed, jumping to her feet. She made to run at the wooden bars, but the chains around her ankles and wrists prevented any exerting movements. She growled as they refused to budge and promptly tried to rip them off the walls.

"You can try that forever, but it's never going to work," Harry said, his eyebrows raised in amusement. "They're held there with magic and your powers are blocked by our wards."

Saleera paused and looked to the ground. Then she started chuckling and blew a lock of hair from her face. Harry's eyebrows moved further up his face as his amusement grew.

"Yes, laugh it up," she said furiously, staring right at him. "When I get out of here _you'll _be the first one I kill."

"You already made that promise to poor Nyos yesterday."

"Tell him he will suffer a thousand times for that ungodly torture."

"Torture?" Harry scoffed. "It wasn't torture. You kicked him between the legs and he doused you with a bucket of ice water. You had it coming."

"A thousand times!"

"_The woman is deranged," _Harry said dispassionately. _"Has she been getting enough to eat?"_

"_I believe Angela has been forcing her to eat," _Aru responded mentally. _"If she doesn't want to be healthy, it's very much her choice. How long do you want to keep up this charade?"_

"_Until I get information."_

"_What information do you think she has? Surely the king wouldn't send her if she knew something important. He would have covered this angle as a precaution."_

Harry ignored that and looked at the prisoner carefully. She probably _did_ know nothing, but there was a certain appeal to seeing the type of people the king might recruit. And from that angle, the one word that came to mind was a favourite of Ron's. _Mental._

Saleera had tried to attack every guard who brought her food, up until Harry himself took to supervising the activities. And from there she simply resorted to screaming profanities and making idle threats. He was rather impressed that she hadn't damaged her vocal chords just yet. Yes, he had taken a vested interest in the prisoner, simply because she was the closest he had come to understanding Galbatorix since Durza.

"Okay, let's play a game," Harry said cheerfully, clapping his hands together. He looked around until he found a stool, then placed it in front of the cell and sat. She rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm. "These are the rules: I ask you a question, you answer. Every question you answer truthfully will earn you a prize – you get to ask _me_ something, not related to military information, and I swear I'll be as honest as I can."

That caught her attention. Her gaze snapped to his, and she unfolded her arms, studying his expression warily. "How can I trust you?"

"How can _I_ trust _you_?"

"You can't," she admitted.

"Yet I'm willing to," Harry nodded. "Play the game."

Half-reluctantly, Saleera sat against the opposite wall, so that they were facing each other. Harry nodded to himself in satisfaction. This was going to be interesting, to say the least. Up until now he had only been observing and talking nonsense to drive her up the wall. Now that she had finally snapped he decided to offer her a carrot instead of a stick, and the offer had been remarkably accepted.

"Okay, I'll go first," Harry said, thinking. He stuck a finger up in affirmation. "How old are you?"

Saleera shifted uncomfortably. "Five and twenty. I choose to ask the same."

"I'm eighteen," Harry said.

"What! How can you be so young?" she exclaimed, causing him to blink in surprise.

Why did it matter so much to her?

"How was I defeated by a... a boy?!"

Oh, that was it.

"Age isn't a reflection of skill," Harry told her calmly. "Experience is, and I have plenty of it. Now, I believe that's a second question, so I'll ask you two in turn. Where do you come from, and why do you fight for Galbatorix?"

"I... I don't know," she stammered.

"You're lying," Harry said sharply.

"I mean it! I don't know where I come from, but I know I grew up among the king's court. One of his noblemen found me on the streets when I was a child and took me in as a servant – no, a slave. He treated me horribly, so I slit his throat one night as he slept. I thought for sure they would execute me, but the king himself intervened. He smiled at me, a frightened girl begging on her knees, and extended a hand...

"From there I moved up in the world, under his protection. I learned there were others in a similar position, other children... but when I heard we were being kept for use as merciless killers, I was one of those who didn't care. He saved me, and I owe him a debt of gratitude."

Saleera had no idea why she was being so honest, but it felt gratifying to tell somebody about her past, even if she did hate the recipient more than anything. For his part, Harry was surprised. She didn't serve the king based out of political leanings or due to a hatred of the Varden... she did it because of a life debt! She felt that he was owed her servitude and promptly delivered upon it, regardless of the duties she had to carry out. To learn that the man had been virtually adopting children for use in that manner... it made him sick to his stomach. And he had no reason to suspect she was lying, even without using magic.

"And you've never looked back since," Harry said quietly, his arms folded and brow creased. "I can understand your reasons and sympathise with your plight, but-"

"Your sympathies be damned," she spat. "No child should ever suffer what I did."

"And you've never wondered what happened to the others, the other children he took under his wing?" Harry asked pointedly.

Saleera paused. "That counts as another question. And I know what happened. Many of them became soldiers in his army, but I was lucky enough to be granted this position."

"Position?"

"Third question," she smirked.

_Damn her!_

"The position I have is as his most trusted assassin. I was being given over to the Eastern Empire to aid them with another war entirely, but he recalled me when you sacked the capital. If you hadn't done that... we may never have even met."

"Lucky me," Harry quipped.

"Very funny. Where are the three magicians you ordered to watch me, and why... why did you let me live? And don't say 'information," she added, when he went to open his mouth. He closed it again. "I want to know why _you_ wanted me to live, because my life should be worthless in your eyes."

"Very well," Harry said, "the magicians are hidden, and that's all you have to know. You don't think I'd let you see their faces, do you? No chance. And I let you live because I would never kill an unarmed prisoner, weakened and helpless."

"Hah, a fine jape, but a poor one in mind," she said with acid. "At least you didn't spare me because I'm a woman."

"I've known women stronger than men and vice versa," Harry said. "The other way around," he explained, as she looked confused by the Latin expression. "We're all human. But yes, the idea of women not being allowed to fight is nonsense. A friend of mine certainly proved that during the battle, and several have done so before her. In my home we all fight as one."

She looked at him curiously. He felt uneasy, those dim eyes staring him down, but showed none of it. "You're really going to volunteer information about your home?"

"That's your third question. Yes, I am, because I think we both know I come from a faraway land as it is. Besides which, I don't think you'll escape from here," Harry said, yawning to emphasise his point. She ground her teeth in frustration. The woman was like a ticking time bomb – one moment she was perfectly reasonable, but without warning she would snap and curse him.

"Since our score is tied again, I'll ask you one question to be fair," Harry said. "What was your overall purpose here?"

"To steal the dragon eggs, kill or capture you and the commanders if possible, and retreat undetected."

Harry widened his eyes. "Wow. You did a bang-up job, by all accounts."

"Don't mock me!"

"You mock yourself," Harry said, "by calling yourself his most trusted servant. To him you're nothing, just another worm to crush underfoot. Only I've been the one to stomp you, not your feeble bastard of a mas-"

Saleera stood and tried to charge the bars, but the chains stopped her. Practically crying out in frustration, she turned and promptly tried to rip them off the wall with her bare hands. Harry eyed her with more pity than dislike.

"Look at me."

She didn't seem to hear him.

"I said LOOK AT ME!" Harry roared, causing her to jump in non-expectance.

She turned to him again, and he could see tears reflected in her eyes. She had been reduced to this on his orders, he knew. He felt a rush of sympathy, but promptly pushed it away. She deserved it, to be sure. That didn't mean he was happy about it being necessary.

"You can be free of him," Harry promised, "if you try to change who you are. That's the magic that beautifies the soul. Change your name, your _true_ name, and you'll never have to listen to him again! You say you accept who you are? Bollocks! You only accept what you're forced to! He _made_ you this way, and you had _no_ choice in the matter! I bet he even planted these homicidal desires in your mind! That's why you struggle to control yourself!"

"I don't need you," she growled, eyes narrowing. "I don't need _anyone_ but the man I love."

"Love?" Harry scoffed. He knew what the issue was now. "Is that what he made you think? That if you did his bidding you would win his favour? I wouldn't bet you a single crown that's your own heart speaking. Maybe your problem is the emotional part of you, something he exploited when you were younger."

"Okay, then let me ask you my question!" she said breathlessly, anger bristling again. "If you're so great with _love_, why don't you come in here and prove it?"

Harry blinked, taken aback. "Eh, I'm sorry?"

"Come on, if you have the mettle! I _want_ you," she practically hissed, gleaming now.

Harry almost choked. It was a good thing Trianna wasn't there, otherwise they might not have a prisoner anymore. To his shock, she didn't stop there. She started to remove her tunic, a terribly inviting smirk upon her face...

"Stop!" Harry demanded, jumping to his feet.

"Ah ha," she simpered, smiling wickedly. "I see we've finally found your weak point... maybe I need to remember this for when you return tomorrow..."

Harry swallowed with nerves and practically bolted from the room as she ran her tongue along her upper lip, attempting to entice him. He shut the door and ordered it locked after removing the magic that silenced the interior. The guards didn't comment on his haggard expression, but it was noted. Once he slipped out of notice, Harry leaned against a large pavilion, hidden from view. He breathed deeply. What was the matter with him? Was he in shock?

_I want you... _her voice said inside his mind. Harry shuddered and tried to force it away, but the words seemed to shift before his very eyes. _You want me..._

"No!" he exclaimed. He would never do something like that! He loved Trianna, and this woman was a prisoner! A murderer! What the hell was wrong with him? With _her?!_ He kept this from Arucane, not wanting him to see the internal turmoil and stretch a nerve. But as he walked away, desperate for some fresh air, a small seed of doubt began to lay its roots within.

* * *

Galbatorix was doing his best to remain calm, but it would eventually become a futile effort. His assassin had failed.

He couldn't believe it. The stupid girl hadn't managed to kill so much as one high-profile leader, at least according to his confidential informants. Not only that, but she had been outsmarted by a mere child! And now she lay in a cell within the Varden's camp, rotting for all he cared.

Galbatorix was not a young man, not by ordinary human standards. And he was now at a stage in life where, because of his inability to trust, he seriously started to consider whether _anything_, even the most mundane task, could be entrusted to a lesser mind. Did he really have to take care of everything himself? Durza, the Ra'zac, the Urgal army, the twins... and now Saleera. None of them were capable of delivering to him the Riders, it seemed.

And his informants said all word of the red egg had gone quiet, which meant the Varden were keeping it under very close wraps indeed. It was possible only a select few even knew of its existence by this stage, let alone its whereabouts. Galbatorix had been a stone's throw from arming himself and flying Shruikan directly to their location, but faltered when he realised they would have reached the forest by the time he got there. And now he had to wait.

Not that these problems were unsolvable, of course. The greatest minds in history presided themselves on solving complex equations that seemed impossible in the eyes of any other man, and he was such a being. The only issue he could foresee was that, if all three eggs hatched, the Varden would have somewhat greater magical strength in the final conflict, but that mattered little. With the Eldunarí at his side and intelligence in his mind, he would still swamp them with ease.

So his overall plan had not changed. His army was still being recruited, and after their training he would march on the elves, and then the dwarves. And then, when the whole of Alagaësia was firmly under his control, from Illium to Hedarth, he would crush his eastern neighbours and rule the entire continent with a steel grip. It was a bold strategy, to be sure, but his hopes that the elves and Canderins would destroy each other in the confusion were still in play. All he had to do was sit and watch, another reason for his lack of interference. While they engaged in the south-eastern borders of Du Weldenvarden, he would attack from a more central area, effectively bottlenecking the rebel forces. They wouldn't escape his clutches.

It was amusing, really. The Varden were walking into a trap that even they hadn't predicted, and there was no force large enough, save his own, that could possibly rescue them from the carnage to soon unfold. And he would pay to sit and laugh at their demise.

His final reason for having a little patience was the issue currently before him. This required great concentration. He spread a handful of the runes he had crafted across the stone dais, focusing all his power on the incantation.

"Brisingr, vindr, deloi, adurna, waíse néiat un malthinae du vanyalí! Atra eka hórna onr nama!"

Magic poured from him as the words took the power they needed. Flashes of light and sparks of energy began to mask his vision, the life force of the world itself ready for the taking. The runes for fire, wind, earth and water glowed and hummed with an ominous rumble, but suddenly they hushed. A single pigment of glowing white burst into being between the four, directly central. The air had gone from the room, and to hear was not possible. It was a living vacuum, and he gave himself to its embrace as he stretched out his hand.

There was a barrier blocking his touch. Desperately, he attempted to breach this mythical defence, but it proved infeasible. He was soon out of breath and unable to bear continuing the spell, even with the aid of a hundred Eldunarí. And so he allowed it to slip once again, until the white spark of being and matter itself vanished, and his hearing returned. He heard a ringing, and was forced to cover both ears to stop the pain, his wards useless.

When his senses returned to normal, Galbatorix lay on the cold stone floor, holding his temples until the throbbing retreated. He gasped and stood, grateful that he allowed no one to be present during these times. The king looked at the table, finding that the runes had returned to normal and no indication of his attempt to learn the Word remained. Panting from exhaustion, he covered up the surface with a velvet cloth and retreated to his quarters.

Closer. He was getting closer... every time.

* * *

The Varden had reached Ílea Fëon two days ago. In that time, the elves had taken them in with resounding hospitality and kindness, helping to patch up their wounded and ensure they were well rested and fed. Jörmundur hoped it was as a show of friendship, but Harry understood their ulterior motives. They wanted to be close with the Riders, and saw that there were at least two somewhere in the convoy. In a stroke of genius, Brom insisted they only be revealed once Ellesméra was reached, so Harry didn't have the trouble of meetings with nobles and other such tedious affairs.

Thankfully, Murtagh had been intelligent after his dragon, Thorn, had hatched. He told only Harry, who immediately passed the message onto Brom. Together, the two found ways to keep the secret as such, only notifying Jörmundur, Arya, Nyos and Angela, as well as the two other dragons and Eragon. For now, no one within the army knew of Thorn's hatching and they were determined it remain that way for as long as possible. If the king got word of the third egg having hatched, he might decide the risk of a premature attack was necessary and that would be disastrous.

For now, Harry was letting Brom do the negotiating with the elves while he helped around the campsite, aiding with the wounded and assigning duties to Du Vrangr Gata, who he was tempted to rename "The Moaning Pain in my Arse."

"What do you want, Jara?" Harry sighed, as the obsessive man walked through his tent flap. To his surprise, the typically well-spoken magician didn't even bother to be courteous and talk his way into a favour. He was furious.

"What is the meaning of this? Do you honestly think I exist to cater to the whims of old fish wives?" he demanded.

Harry pursed his lips and intertwined his fingers, trying to remain calm. "Are they trying to take sexual advantage of you?"

"Wha- no!" he spluttered.

"Do they want you to kill someone for them?"

"Of course not!"

"Then what, I mean, _what in the hell_, do you have to complain about? Those people are either sick or dying, and you have the _nerve_ to suggest your time is too precious to spend aiding the healers?"

"I should be spending time fighting!"

"Fighting _what_?" Harry exclaimed with his arms spread, half-tempted to shake the man. "Do you want to fight the trees, or maybe the bloody squirrels?"

"I _don't_ want to be treated like some lowdown servant!"

"Then you'd better watch what you say, because I swear to all that's good and holy my threat about the horse shit is a permanent one."

"Huh. We'll talk about this later," he sneered.

"No, never again," Harry corrected. "Now get out, before I decide to expunge your ability to speak."

The man left with a scoff, leaving Harry alone but sporting the onset of a massive headache. That man just didn't stop with his complaints, rather like his only friend Glind. The pair were the twins in disguise, he swore, except they weren't murderous traitors. That was something, at least. Wasn't it?

To his relief, a soft pair of arms gently arched their way around his neck.

"Do you want me to beat him up for you?" Trianna teased.

Harry smiled. "I thought you were sleeping."

"I _was."_

He winced. "I'm sorry about that."

"Oh, really? Because... I'm not."

Harry grinned as he took her meaning and allowed her to guide him to the covers, though he was distracted. The trickster Saleera entered his mind once again, but when he felt Trianna's warm embrace he forgot about her entirely, as well as the world itself.

When she had fallen asleep a while later, Harry stayed awake. He stared at her peaceful form for a moment, mindful of her soft breathing, before turning and walking into the moonlight. Du Weldenvarden was a peaceful place here, though Eragon's reports seemed to indicate a different experience there. Harry suspected the elves kept the woods tamed somehow, but even they couldn't patrol its entire depths. That was why Brom had to request scouts find the villagers from Carvahall, and they had been dispatched immediately. He only hoped it didn't take very long.

Yet, it was tranquil in every other manner. An aura of magic hung in the air all around, with shades of green and brown visible in every viable direction. He couldn't name half of the plants, and their 'minds' felt peculiar even compared with other flora he had come into contact with before. In the city, houses made inside the tree trunks were commonplace and screamed as a marvel of elven ingenuity. The elves themselves mirrored this aestheticism with a graceful and delicate countenance, capable of great athletic feats and sporting gentle natures. Harry spoke to several, and found their company warm, if a little overly cheerful.

He had noticed their differences when compared with Arya. The princess had visibly relaxed when she came into contact with her kind, something he mentioned to Eragon in passing. She smiled more often and her body seemed to loosen, as though a multitude of constricting knots had been undone below the surface. He had rarely seen her so happy, and it made a pleasant change. All of the good cheer, from her and the others, had a positive impact on the soldiers and civilians as well. Their morale was bolstered with genuine hope, and they seemed to be enjoying the escapade for the first time. They would only be in the city for a day or two, but in that time several guided trips were planned for the young and old to see the wonders of the forest-folk.

Besides his conversations with the assassin and reaching the city, there was little to speak of. The convoy was making steady progress, with Brom's assurance that they would traverse the woods much quicker than the road before, courtesy of the elves and the forest's magic. Harry wasn't sure how that worked, but he had learned by now not to question magic itself. And on that note...

He turned back to the tent, where his glasses were lying on the floor next to the bed. He stretched out a hand.

"_Accio!"_

The spectacles jumped to his hand instantly, causing him to smile with satisfaction. He was certainly improving. The summoning, banishing and disarming spells were all he had mastered in the time since his wand was lost, but that was still remarkable progress. Aru claimed part of it was due to the strengthening of their bond and the effect it had on Harry's mental powers, something which he was happy to agree with.

Silently, he placed them on his face. His vision had improved a fraction since becoming a Rider, but not by much. It would take years before he could see properly without them, so it wasn't worth thinking about for a long time.

Suddenly, Nyos appeared from seemingly nowhere.

"You need to keep it down," he said, "we can hear the two of you from halfway down the formation."

"What?! I, err, I..."

"Just kidding, but thanks for letting me know you were lucky tonight," he grinned, slapping Harry on the back and nearly sending him flying. Then he sobered up immediately. "This place feels unnatural to me, Harry, I won't lie. Holes in the trees for homes?" he shuddered. "Give me a well-crafted house made of timber and stone any day over this."

"You sound as bad as Orik," Harry grumbled, standing up straight again and brushing himself off. The dwarf had been complaining about the lack of rock since they entered the forest.

"Maybe I'm naturally predisposed to not like dark, dank and dirty trees," Nyos shrugged. "In any case, I came to find you. Brom is looking for you."

"Why did he send you as a liaison?"

"He didn't. He wanted Murtagh as well, and I volunteered first."

"You were with Murtagh?" Harry queried. "How is he holding up?"

"Better. The elves have made his scars even less noticeable and his bond with Thorn has helped immeasurably. He's as fit as ever before, in no small part thanks to you."

"Let's not go over this again," Harry groaned, as the pair began walking. "I'm tired and just want to go back to bed. I only stepped out for some fresh air. Even you can't deny there's plenty of that around here."

"True enough," Nyos said, "and I daresay we'll have to get used to the sensations. I fear we'll be here for quite a long time, and can't see Ellesméra being much different to this city."

"Your fears are my hopes," Harry noted with amusement. "But we aren't even in the city. It's about half a league to the west. These are only the outskirts."

"Even the elves have limitations, and I believe catering to a number in the thousands is one of them," came the reply.

"I won't complain," Harry said with a yawn. "Anything beats the Hadarac, if you remember it."

"How could I forget?" the general shuddered.

"With plenty of ale," Harry quipped.

Surprisingly enough, the man did not laugh at his reply. He really seemed to be discomfited by the current situation, and Harry could think of nothing to help him feel better, so he kept quiet until they arrived at their destination. Only Brom and Murtagh were inside.

"Ah, thank you for coming," Brom said.

"Not like you gave me much choice," Harry muttered.

"Deal with it," the old man snapped, motioning for Nyos to close the flap, which he did. Now only several candles illuminated the interior. "You may notice that Jörmundur and Arya are not here. That's because I want this to stay between the four of us."

"Just like old times," Murtagh grinned, though he faltered under Brom's glare. Harry was delighted to see he was indeed looking much better. Only a few patchy marks and thin scabs remained of his once-deadly wounds. "Eh, sorry."

"I asked you all here because I trust you three more than any others," Brom continued, "given that we've travelled together under more taxing circumstances than anyone else in the Varden. You've _earned _that trust. Saphira is also listening in, though she's already known for a day. Harry, I'm expecting Arucane to hear this through you, and Thorn... well, he's too young to understand as it is. Where is he, Murtagh?"

"With Angela," the third Rider answered. "She seems to enjoy being a nanny to us."

"What's happening?" Harry asked, frowning with his arms crossed. "You're not dying, are you?"

"We're all dying," Brom retorted, before sighing. "I'm sorry, please excuse that. It's just... things might get a little tricky when we reach Ellesméra and I'm rather on-edge. I have many secrets, as you all know, and some will come to light of their own accord. Others I will divulge and more still will surface without my desire. This is one of those ones."

"This has something to do with the elves," Murtagh pointed out.

"Well, not entirely, but in a way it does," Brom said, seeming annoyed with his own wording. He prided himself on clear pieces of information, so the obscurity of his personal secrets was irritating. "One elf knows the truth, the one who will be your teacher, but apart from that there are no others still alive. Because I have wards preventing him from speaking out, I wanted to let you know in case... in case something does happen to me."

"I think something already has," Harry murmured, his eyes narrow slits by now. "Is this related to what we spoke of outside Yazuac?"

"No, but that will likely be brought up too," Brom sighed. "This has to do with a different part of my past. Back before I killed Morzan I infiltrated his manor in an attempt to gain information on the dragon eggs and avoid suspicion. In doing so I... met someone."

"A woman?" Harry asked, though he already knew the answer.

Brom nodded, seemingly reluctant. "She was ensorcelled by the man years before, made to serve him and love him in a sick, twisted manner."

Murtagh gasped. "You mean Selena... my mother."

"I do," Brom nodded, eyes shut.

Harry began to suspect... something. "Hold up. You said you _met_ someone... and when I said it was a woman... did the two of you...?"

Murtagh's eyes widened in shock as he looked to Brom for clarification. Brom met his eyes and Murtagh knew the truth. He wasn't upset or angry. He hated Morzan, but... was there a chance...?

"Is Morzan my father?"

"I'm afraid so," Brom said with a touch of sadness, knowing that would be asked. "You were already a small child when I first met your mother."

Murtagh let his disappointment flicker, before suppressing it.

"But... your brother..."

"What brother?" Murtagh demanded, immediately standing upright.

"Well, your half-brother, I should say..."

A gong rang in Harry's mind, shattering his senses and throwing them into the ether. He felt cloudy and lightheaded as Aru spun the pieces of the puzzle in his head, before putting them together masterfully. He could see it now... Brom, lover of Selena, found that the woman had died somehow, then confronted Morzan in rage. Only that could have given him the strength to overcome the traitor, for he had a serious disadvantage with no dragon at his side. And then, after the incident with the eggs...

What would Brom have done? Well, Brom was a good man... he would have left to spend time with what was important to him. And what could be important than returning to the Varden to help ferry the egg between the mountains and the elves? Since he knew about a child now, it only made sense that he did back then as well. And sure enough, Harry found that by comparing the rough ages of the two and remembering the little his friend had said of his mother, the puzzle was complete. He felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

"D-did Garrow know?" Harry half-croaked.

Brom smiled. "Why am I not surprised you were the first to come to the correct conclusion? And no, he didn't. I maintained my cover all too well."

"Who is Garrow?" Murtagh asked with confusion, echoed by Nyos.

"He was Eragon's uncle, but the Ra'zac tortured and murdered him," Harry explained. "It's why we left Carvahall in the first place."

"I see... wait. Eragon's uncle? What does- no," he whispered, realisation creeping in.

"Yes," Brom nodded.

"No way."

"Yes way."

"No," he repeated, shaking his head.

"Would you stop that! It's true." Brom took a deep breath. "I am Eragon's father, and the two of you are half-brothers."

* * *

**A:N - **At long last I have a finalised chapter plan for this story, after many months of working out the finer details. The current number in my head is fifty, although I reserve the right to add or remove one if any plot alterations call for it. Remember that while I have the main story worked out, there are still little tidbits of information and smaller scenarios that are changing almost constantly in my head. That's what makes it so difficult for me to remember every little detail on occasion.

Secondly, I have some good/bad news. The news is good for me, but bad for my time spent writing. I've managed to find employment recently, so that'll be taking up most of my weekend free time. It's only weekend work, so for now I have the other five days free, but given that I've been busy as it is over the summer, that mightn't be much of a consolation. I'll just have to see how things go. As it stands, I finished this less than 48 hours after starting it, so there are also positive signs.

**Edit - **I was asked in a PM to possibly include some music for this story, which I think is a fine idea. Here is my take on several pieces (what you see on the left is the scenario in the story, with the song and artist on the right). I'll include one or two per chapter, as I don't want to clog up the word count with this. Here are four to get you started:

**Main Theme - **Ignite (by Aoi Eir - also the opening theme of the anime 'Sword Art Online II') - I recommend the short version.

**Harry and Trianna** - Toui Sora He (from the anime 'Yosuga no Sora') - Type in the name and select user Javier Yong's video.

**Galbatorix's Machinations** - Kira's Theme (from the anime 'Death Note') - Same again, but select alex6995's video.

**Battle of Farthen Dur - **Protectors of the Earth (by Two Steps from Hell) - This one's easy to find. Does what it says on the tin.


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